Tag: writing

Insomnia-induced Creative Writing…?

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Her phone battery died 15 minutes ago. The B&B she had reserved for a weekend getaway loomed frustratingly close, but she hadn’t brought a map or memorized the route. Her charger?  Back at the apartment in a different purse. Kicking herself, desperately needing to use the restroom, and weary with exhaustion from a long drive and an even longer week, Rose pulled up to a house with warm lights glowing. Weighing risk and reward in a two-pan balance, she knocked on the door, hoping against hope a sweet grandma type would let her in to use the loo and maybe have easy directions to her lodging.

Rose knocked once and waited. Then knocked again. Surely someone had to be home. She remembered how she left a living room lamp on in her apartment to give the illusion someone was home. Frantic, she started surveying the bushes and shrubs as possible cover. Things were going from desperate to crisis when finally the door opened. 

“Excuse me, sorry to bother you, but I’m lost and really need to use the bathroom,” she exclaimed in a rush.  When the very rumpled, sleepy man at the door gestured her in and pointed the way to the bathroom, Rose wasted no time. Locking the door and taking care of business, she relaxed enough to realize what she had just done and what might happen.

“Oh my God, I’m going to be a Dateline warning story,” she thought. After washing her hands and looking around, she noted the room was tidy, clean without giving off serial killer vibes. Okay, maybe she’d lucked out and would be able to leave unscathed. Dumb bladder. Dumb water bottle of which she had consumed the entirety. Dumb dead phone. She chuckled when she noticed she had grabbed her bear spray but not her phone charger. Classic Rose.

Hands dried, bear spray tucked up her left sleeve, she threw her shoulders back and opened the door. While she had solved one very urgent problem, she had created about seventeen more. 

“Thank you so much, I appreciate that, I’ll just be on my way.”

“Hold on a minute. What in the hell are you doing driving alone in the middle of the night in unfamiliar territory? And why in the name of Frank Sinatra are you knocking on doors of complete strangers?! Are you trying to get yourself killed?” His voice scratchy with sleep still had a booming quality. No one ever yelled at Rose. She was sweetness incarnate. Her eyes began to well up, her jaw set and her fists clenched.  Just as she was about to give this stranger a piece of her mind in his living room, she stopped to notice he wasn’t wearing a shirt. A nice amount of chest hair trailing down to gray sweatpants and bare feet. His hair was sleep-rumpled and he had creases on his right cheek from the pillowcase. 

“Um, could you tell me how to get to the bed and breakfast nearby?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. Of course, you’re the writer Sam told me was coming. That makes so much sense.”

“Sam? You mean Ms. Fairbanks?”

“Yeah, my sister. I’ll show you the way. It’s not far, but it’s tricky directions at night. Don’t you have a cell phone?”

“Yes, but I forgot my charger at home.”

The look he pierced her with had Rose equal parts furious and breathless. 

“My name is Rose, by the way.”

“I know. Now let’s go.”

As she got in her car, a number of sailor-worthy expletives escaped her mouth. The grumpy stranger hadn’t even given his name. How rude. She followed him for 15 minutes around winding curves and backroad turns. She would have been lost for sure if she hadn’t stopped. But it was hard to be grateful when she was still seething with anger and unable to stop thinking about the striking figure in gray sweatpants. Whatever this retreat was meant to be, it certainly wouldn’t be restful. “But it won’t be boring either,” Rose said aloud. At that, she smiled for the first time in a long time.

Breathe

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We’re not supposed to breathe under water. We don’t have gills. We crawled out onto land ages ago and really are only meant to visit on top in boats or swimming. But, I’m a little bit stubborn and don’t like being told what to do, so I picked one of the most challenging activities I could think of to thumb my nose at another “should.”

I had signed up initially to take a February class and do the checkout dives near the end of that month. Unfortunately, I wasn’t quite ready so I was invited to retake the class. Boy am I glad I did because I had a couple of patient instructors who firmly but kindly pushed me to be successful.

The four checkout dives occurred this past weekend–two on Saturday and two on Sunday. In order to be considered for certification, each student had to meet benchmarks and demonstrate safety skills in the open water, much as we had done in the pool. No one can explain to you what it feels like to be covered head to toe with gear–boots, wetsuit, bc unit, tank, weights hood–and then slog to the stairs leading down to the water. It’s heavy dry. It’s even heavier climbing out of the water, up the steps, and back up a tiny incline to the parking lot–the soggiest backpack ever.

On each dive we had to demonstrate skills like controlled descents and ascents, neutral buoyancy, full mask removal and replacement, stationary shared air, shared air ascent…these are the main ones I can think of, don’t worry there was a specific checklist and it got signed off on by the instructors. Scuba is a mental game. I’m still breathing. I’m still breathing. I’m breathing so I’m okay. Breathing. Just breathe. And the next thing you know, THERE’S A STARFISH! Sea cucumbers, crabs, anemones, and we even got to see the tiniest little nudibranch (looked like a fuzzy caterpiller).

I can’t tell you the number of times in this process, I thought I wanted to quit. I don’t want to do this. It’s crazy. Who would want to do this. But then I’d think, well maybe I’ll quit after class is over. Or maybe after this dive. But little successes build. They build confidence and momentum and a skillset even. So there I was on the fourth dive, swimming along with my dive buddy, giving the okay sign frequently and absorbing all the wonder of this new-to-me environment.

Once that last dive was over, I was euphoric. High even. It wasn’t just pride over achievement, although that was definitely part of it. It wasn’t just relief at being done, because I’ll be honest this was a tough road and I’m tired, and it was part of it too. But the overwhelming sense of WONDER blew me away. I got to visit another world and be out of the ugliness of this one for 29 minutes at 49 feet. Breathing steadily, holding the hand of my dive buddy, assured that my instructor had my back.

We all have to do hard things life throws at us whether we like it or not. And we do them maybe with grace, maybe loudly complaining, maybe not altogether elegantly, but we do them. Sometimes, however, we get to choose the hard thing and triumph so that it becomes a less hard thing. Then it turns into a cool thing and eventually into a fun thing.

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Softball

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When I was a sophomore in high school, I tried out for the JV softball team. The summer before I had played slow-pitch in the city’s parks and recreation program. It was a lot of fun. My dear friend had played JV our freshman year and said it was really cool and that I should give it a try. Why not?! I’m a decent batter–never one for home runs but fairly consistent at dropping the ball between second base and right field. “Put the ball where the people aren’t,” my dad used to say. I had enjoyed pitching slow-pitch and wanted to learn fast pitch. I had a heart for the game and was so eager to join. The day came for the announcements of who had made the team and who had been cut. I wasn’t on the roster. I was heartbroken. I had worked so hard. I had wanted it so badly. And it didn’t matter. I had lots of theories as to why, but at the end of the day, it didn’t matter. My name wasn’t on that list.

That evening, after my dad got off work, he came in to check on me. I had isolated in my room, crying. Why didn’t they pick me? Wasn’t I good enough? There were a lot of tears. I have to commend my dad, he gave me just enough time and space to feel my feelings, then he gave me a piece of advice I really appreciated. He gently and firmly encouraged me to go to every practice and game anyway–to participate, learn, and grow, to not throw in the towel, to refuse to be sidelined completely.

That season I became a softball “manager.” I helped with equipment and keeping the records during games. I went to every practice, did all the drills, and worked really hard to be a part of the team even though I didn’t get to play in the games. At the end of the season, we had a celebratory picnic/bbq. Much to my surprise, I was awarded “Most Dedicated Player.” My junior year I did make the JV team. And while I had failures and successes, I had proven that I was willing to try and do the work. Truthfully, summer league was always my favorite because it was more about fun than during the school season. And don’t get me started about the inequity between the boys’ field and the girls’ field…*insert eye roll here. Nevertheless, softball was an incredible learning experience for me in school. Invaluable.

I think about this time with great fondness for my dad’s wisdom and love. I think about being a kid facing rejection, feeling small and less than, being left out and doing so with grit and grace. That kid is still in here teaching me how it’s done.

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Manifest

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As an adjective, it means readily perceived or obvious.

As a noun, it’s an inventory list.

As a verb in a more modern context, it’s to bring about with intention through thought, word, and action.

Looking back at this year, it’s pretty obvious there have been a number of challenges, some devastating losses, and some major positive gains. I had significant health concerns that led to some awful dark thoughts which turned out to be an easy fix after a long slog of persistent self-advocacy. I created art of which I’m very proud–100 days of watercolors, a bedroom mural of flowers, redecorating my living room (a place I studiously avoided because of the heavy memories into a space that I have surrounded with warm light and comfortable seating to make gathering pleasant and easy for new memories). The losses were heavy–a dear friend, a precious cousin’s mama, my Aunt Daisy, my Uncle Bob, my kitty Seamus. There was hard work in the garden, in the basement, a yard sale, making space for nephews. A new job, a new-to-me car, a new kitten, a new rhythm of being, so many more good things too. There have been new discoveries and maybe old reminders, too, like hey, life is worth living and time and people are the best joy nuggets (my 30th class reunion had a lot to teach me there), cooking for and with people I love is soul medicine. I was also reminded repeatedly that some relationships are worth pouring energy into and some simply are not. And that’s okay. Time and effort reveal much. Dating apps are for the birds. Yes I tried (un)Hinge(d) and Bumble (aka Stumble) to no success. Regardless, deliberate gratitude, playful humor, and seized joy make EVERYTHING bearable.

For an inventory list or the manifest of what I’m taking into the new year, I’d say the realization that I’m allowed to want good things for myself, hope for those things, a willingness to accept them, and wisdom and discernment to tell what is good for me and what just seems pleasant in the moment. And I’d like to strike through the following items on the list as they are weightier than I can carry: shame, fear, guilt, and cowardice.

In 2026, I’d like to continue growing in my artistic development. I’d like to step out of my comfort zone and try news things, maybe SCUBA or fencing or open mic nights. I think the only thing that keeps the brain from turning mushy is to force it to grow new neural pathways doing stuff it hasn’t ever done before, thinking thoughts it hasn’t thought before. I also want to put myself in new places to meet people I’ve not met before. I have a lot to give to this world even yet and maybe I’ve been a little too comfortable, a little too hidden. And I’m willing to say I’d like to meet someone special. It’s hard to type that out for a lot of reasons. I miss Bryan so much. I always will. But having my nephews in my home has reminded me how much I’m built for sharing time and space and meals and conversation in this home. It’s so lovely to do that with my dearest friends and family. I live for dinner parties and cookie parties and porch gatherings and patio picnics. And I also long for the intimacy and affection and touch of someone who puts their whole heart into loving me back. I’m not ashamed to say I still want that.

Okay, 2026. I’m going to put my helmet on, buckle my seatbelt, and brace myself for as much joy as you can throw at me.

Season’s Greetings

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I’ve never been a Christmas card writer. It smells of a forced “have to” that I balk at, but sometimes the mood to share what is good strikes anyway. I’ve tried to make a consistent habit of a Friday invitation to reflection of what is good both for myself and others. I think it’s a habit worthy of continuing. Maybe an annual reflection isn’t so bad either. Often, it can come across as a brag, humble or no, and can be off-putting. I hope to circumvent that, but we will see…

What a difference a year makes. Truly. Last year at this time I was sad, angry, overwrought, in no way wanting to be cheerful or celebratory. It got colder sooner. And I waited to start my full-spectrum lamp. Lots of things conspired against me while my own mood and attitude were conspiring against myself. It’s funny how those negative feedback spirals can build on themselves and grow momentum. But in like manner, positive feedback loops can also build momentum and grow.

This past year I struggled to understand some health issues and then got resolution. What a relief. 100 days of art, doing small watercolor paintings before breakfast, was absolute medicine. Creating a floral mural on my bedroom wall taught me that a. I can do home projects and b. I can do hard work to give my future self a gift. Believe me when I say this bright, cheerful garden in the middle of winter is doing exactly what I had hoped. My garden, Mill Creek, time with friends and family, have given much-needed solace, too. My 30th high school class reunion met up in Athens, Ohio this summer. Did we all get Covid afterward? Yes. Was that kind of the pits? Also, yes. Was it an amazing gift to be with people I love and am learning to love? Resoundingly, yes!

While there has been heartbreaking loss, which always seems to be the way in this life, those losses also remind me of how precious our time together is and how lucky we are for that time. I miss my Aunt Daisy every day–she made me laugh so much. I miss my Uncle Bob’s humor and charm. I miss my Seamus-kitty who was such a loving, community ambassador. There’s no end to hurt, truly, but it is always intermingled with love and gratitude.

I am typing with a brand new kitten napping next to me-my little Luna-berry Malcador Lubbers. Yesterday, I made peppermint patties with my cousin’s youngest son. Today, my kiddo finishes up her first term in graduate school. I am over-the-moon proud of her hard work and diligence and know her Dad would be in the same boat. Next week, I will host my annual sugar cookie extravaganza. And for the past few months, I have had the honor and privilege of welcoming a couple of nephews to stay at my home. Life is hard and rich and amazing and hilarious and heartbreaking and so beautiful. To quote the late, great Bryan Lubbers, “I am the luckiest son-of-a-bitch who ever lived (sorry, Mom).”