Well, it’s been a hard week. I’m starting to question how useful it is to share the details of why it was hard for me, exactly, because I feel like most of us are in the same, shitty COVID-19 boat and you already know what I’m going to write about. And then, I also know that a lot of people are going through an even tougher time because they lost their job, or their health is compromised or both, or they lost someone to this disease. There are so many ways it could be worse, and so when I say I had a bad week, it’s in the context of this little world of mine, which for right now includes my home office where the cats sleep and I spend the majority of my days, the bathroom (that will come up later) and the bedroom, or my half of it anyway.
When I’m not writing (or I have writer’s block and I’ve already done 60 burpees to try and shake it, and I still can’t write) I’ve been turning to unusual stories to keep me going. In the six-weeks since I’ve isolated myself from everybody, I’ve read Rebecca Solnit’s Recollections of my Nonexistence, Kathy Valentine’s rock memoir All I Ever Wanted, Dallas Murphy’s super-salty part-travel narrative, part-history Rounding the Cape and a handful of Marc Maron’s podcasts WTF when I can’t stand the sound of the silence any longer.
All of these in some way evoke the compulsion we have to tell our stories not only for our own benefit of looking back and wrapping up the loose ends left by the past (or perhaps to burn those damn bridges to the ground) but also to share these experiences with others. It’s cathartic, healing— it’s human.
In reading and listening to all these human stories, it occurs to me that we’ve all felt helplessness, hopelessness, pain, and loss at some point in our lives. Our parents have probably made us feel as though they betrayed us, and we spent the better part of our twenties languishing in angst about that, and how we would act differently, given the opportunity. And then you get to be a parent yourself, and you realize that they were doing the best they could because you are doing the best you can, and you make mistakes—sometimes the very same ones that you’ve been high-and-mighty about up until this point— and nothing is ever perfect. And, despite these things, we nonetheless keep living our lives as we do, helping others in one way or another.
Why This Week Was Hard #1
So, one crappy thing was that the writer’s conference I applied for— which was celebrating its 50th anniversary and that I tried to get into — is canceled. Worse, though, is that they will not be sending any feedback on the application essays which were submitted, which was all I really wanted since I all but gutted myself and revised my guts a million times and sent it into them. I also sent this same essay to a handful of literary journals knowing the process of selection when you’re one of a million in the slush pile is slim-to-none.
But these rejections have been especially brutal, and I don’t know if it’s the situation that magnifies the sting or the fact that I really took off the gloves and wrote about my life from the perspective of a flawed adult looking back through time at the way all my parents struggled to make a home and how we couldn’t understand one another. It was an essay that explored the idea of belonging set across the backdrop of my trip to South Africa with my mom in 2016 to visit family I had never really known growing up. The essay explored the idea that sometimes we only realize we belong too late.
These “rejections” made me question the value of my stories in the world. Perhaps, I thought, I’m too damaged—too weird— to send my words into the world. Despite the fact that they are language, composed of letters, words, and sentences, they somehow fail to speak to readers. But then, Rebecca Solnit in all her sagacity made me pause before I sent all my drafted essays into the trash:
“Damage begets a different destiny than one you might have had otherwise, but it does not preclude having a life or making things that matter. Sometimes it’s not despite but because of something terrible that you become who you are meant to be and set to the work you are meant to do.”
—Rebecca Solnit
And so here I am, telling you my story—or the story for this week anyway—once again.
Why This Week Was Hard #2
The second terrible thing is probably something you can relate to. I haven’t been feeling the greatest despite my daily routine that includes both cardiovascular and strength conditioning exercises with a modest amount of stretching. On Thursday, for whatever reason, I felt downright ill. Maybe I was nervous for the upcoming series of Facebook Live interviews I’m doing with graduates from the community college where I work. Maybe I was just tired. Who knows? I did the worst thing a person can do and read a few articles on COVID-19, which led to what I can only call a panic attack.
I spent the night on the bathroom floor, getting rid of whatever I’d eaten that day. When it got to be late, I’d fall asleep and then wake again feeling the cold tile under my hands and cheek, surrounded by dark, not knowing where I was. At some point, I woke up and my only thought that repeated over and over was that I didn’t want to die alone in that stupid bathroom.
So, what do you do? Here’s what I did: at some point, I crawled back to bed where I did my best to sleep. I must have been exhausted because I didn’t even take off my running shoes. As dawn glimmered through the curtains of the bedroom window, I thought about calling sick into work. Yet, knowing the pile of “content” (I really hate that word) that needs to be written, I knew that I couldn’t. Also: who would send out the COVID-19 Daily Bulletin? Who would send out the website updates? Who would write the “content” for the social media posts? Who would send six drafts of news stories to graduates based on the interviews I’ve conducted over the past three weeks for their approval, so we can start our campaign on Monday? Who would process the images they send me, so we can post them online?
That’s my job. I am a storyteller. Despite feeling like death warmed over in running shoes, I got up and went to work. My job in this world is to tell stories. Maybe not mine. Maybe the world has no use for my stories. But I can tell other people’s stories.
I won’t lie. It was a harsh kick in the pants, and I can’t say that I’m particularly proud of it.
What Else Can I Say?
And so here we are: Week 21 of my journey to the California Coast Classic and this is the weirdest journey to anything I’ve ever been on. I thought by now I’d be writing about nutrition on the bike. Or, about long rides as the days grow longer. Or, my tips for changing a flat in no time flat! Instead, I’m writing about a pandemic, isolation, depression, throwing up. It’s just weird.
So, I thought this could be a post about looking for what is positive in your life right now. Whatever it is— riding your bike, running, walking your dog, tending your garden— focusing on that is so important. For me, interviewing our graduates has been a buoy in a sea of otherwise depressing stew. There are eight stories we’ll run in the next two weeks and communicating with these students—sometimes by email, sometimes on the phone, and even by video conference—has been the highlight of every day.
Despite missing out on what is arguably the highlight of every college degree—the graduation ceremony—these students have been so forthcoming with their stories. I feel as though this is exactly perfect for this moment: a platform where they can share their memories and photos of the highlights and challenges of them entering into the professions that will, in one way or another, define their lives. (Well perfect aside from actually attending a ceremony and doing it the conventional way. I get that.)
I have been so touched by these conversations, I often text my mom after work, giving her the highlights. A recent message was:
I interviewed a student today for our series highlighting this year’s graduates that just about made me cry. She said her best moment at TMCC was last year, when she graduated with her first associate’s degree. She’s an international student from a very small town in Colombia, and for her graduation present, her American host family flew up her mom and dad for the ceremony. She said they had never traveled out of the country, spoke zero English and the only part of the ceremony they understood was their daughters name.
Two months later her father passed away. He was the one who always asked her when she would get her job with an airline company (her dream) so she could get him tickets to travel the world. She said that she is grateful for that support, and that working toward that goal--even now-- keeps her going. And then she said that she would tell other students: “Enjoy the process. [College] is a unique opportunity. It won’t always be easy. Life has ups and downs and you have to keep going.”
I just love this student’s words, which are words echoed by many others I’ve interviewed. You have to keep going, they say. Keep trying, keep doing what you do.
I love these students who remind me of this very basic truth.
Why Storytelling Matters
At the very beginning of my writing career, I wrote an essay about how I got into long-distance running. There was this hill by UNR’s campus when I was in the French Master’s program that I would try to run up, but couldn’t. Yet, every morning I’d try.
Every day, I’d wake up, drink a cup of coffee and lace up my shoes and out the door to this sandy hill that was really just two tire-tracks up a sage expanse kind of near the “N”. Every day I thought I’d do it. I would keep running until I thought my lungs or calves would literally explode. Yet, I kept trying. I tried to run up that hill on sunny days. Rainy days. Snowy days. Windy days. A year or more of days until one unremarkable day, I did it.
That was the year I won my first marathon and the trajectory of my life went on a completely different course because I realized that I was not the mediocre [failure] person I’d grown up believing I was. I could push myself hard to do things that were uncomfortable. I could run—and win— a marathon. I could give an oral defense in my second language. I could move to the bay area and pursue a writing career as the first person in my immediate family to go to graduate school for my third graduate degree. Years after, I’d ghost write a best-selling memoir that was made into a feature film. I co-authored a book about the importance of mental health.
I tell myself all of this now because it matters. I don’t know how I will get in the volume of training for the CCC that I’d like to right now, but I think that is OK. It has to be.
Our stories matter
What I loved so much about the CCC when I participated in 2018, was how nearly everyone shared their story with me. I loved that. I would still love to hear your stories, and to share them. I won’t call it a gift, but I have worked for years on my ability to write nonfiction prose. It would be a shame for it to go to waste.
So, if you’re a CCC rider and/or you have experience with Arthritis, reach out to me! I’d love to hear your story and share it on my blog. I love writing and sharing the experiences of others. How are you training/riding/staying sane? Light up our lives with your story of perseverance. We all need inspiration right now.
As always, follow me on this incredible journey to the California Coast Classic!! Learn more about it on my official donation page. Donations are welcome and deeply appreciated.