I waited impatiently for a response, circling the post office like a hawk in the days after sending the letter to Bryan. My hands were shaking when I reached for the envelope I finally discovered waiting in the box. It was the very letter I sent, returned to me, pre-opened by prison security. Apparently, there was a rule against including anything in the mail except the correspondence. I guess my SASE triggered the send-back.
I felt a mixture of disappointment and relief. I didn’t even feel the same as I did that day I decided to embark on this rehashing of what was old and dead and in the past. No, I had moved out of that emotional storm and was back in the calm.
Things went up and down in my marital relationship, for. me at least. He never seemed to question whether he was happy or not.
I closed down the P.O. Box and vowed never to do that sort of thing again. I felt embarrassed and also scared that he would find out somehow. I didn’t want to lose him. I did love him. I just felt like I needed something more. In that moment, at least.
I started paying more attention to my writing, delving now into family history, spending time with Mom, learning about the origins of my ancestors. I thought about writing a book about our beginnings. I wrote a brief, one-page bio about my great-grandfather for a nearby city’s historical website, He served a term as mayor back in the 1920s.
This family history converging with local history really held my attention for about a year or so. I scanned black and white photos from Mom’s old albums, took photos of the antique china pieces handed down to her that she kept in the cabinet with the glass doors.
I started thinking about writing a family cookbook. I collected recipes and started putting together an outline. I had lots of ideas, maybe too many ideas. I would become overwhelmed and then exhausted by all the plans and goals and then just put everything aside for awhile.
Perfectionism was my problem. If I didn’t feel like I had time or energy to do something ‘right’ or to see it all the way through in a reasonable time, then I just wouldn’t do it. So, the story ideas and outlines started to pile up.
I tried to do a little writing during my workday, but it wasn’t easy or comfortable. I couldn’t just pull over and sit for periods of time in my work vehicle. It would be obvious I wasn’t doing my job. The same in the office.
I signed up for a non-credit course at the college called “Create the Life You Want”. We met one night per week, at first there were only three students and then there were only two. The class was based on Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way book.
The instructor, Kathy, quit her corporate job when she turned 40 and toured the United States on her bicycle. She never went back to nine to five. Instead, she taught these courses and did seminars on creativity and alternate lifestyles.
Although I couldn’t have known it at the time, this 12-week course was going to change my life.
Megan Miles, Author 