What Are You Waiting For?

On leaping

Photo by Dylan Shaw

I am afraid all of the time. You might not guess from the fiery, sharp-tongued pieces I often write, but below the surface my fears are perpetually threatening to consume me. I’m afraid of spiders and the dark. I’m afraid of fascism and walking alone on hiking trails. I’m afraid of losing those I love. I’m afraid I won’t ever feel financially stable. I’m afraid of ocean tides and muddy lakes. I’m afraid of depressive episodes. I’m afraid of failing as a writer and a mother. For most of my life, I allowed fear to dictate my life. Discomfort and failure felt lethal, so I didn’t try.

I spent most of my twenties and thirties not trying to pursue anything where I might fail. I dreamt of writing, pursuing an MFA, traveling the world, backpacking, publishing my work, but I perpetually compared myself to those who were already experts in these fields. Deeply insecure since adolescence, I often looked to others for approval, for validation of my worth and intelligence. I didn’t believe I had the talent or grit to pursue any of these things seriously, so why try?

Instead, I poured most of my energy into a string of relationships that failed and attempting to control the size of my body. I expected that once I found the “right” partner, I’d feel fulfilled. It never happened. Year after year, I dutifully went to work, tried to remain as thin as possible, spent time in relationships where I self-lobotomized to survive—I felt like a polar bear in captivity, swimming figure eights to stay sane and keep boredom at bay. But always, in the very back of my mind a tiny fire burned with a desire to write, to push myself and to take myself seriously as a writer.

When you don’t try, you’re under the illusion that you haven’t failed. Not writing meant I could tell myself that one day I would magically be in a place where I might sit down and write something beautiful. It’s a convenient story to tell yourself year after year. One day is an abstract concept that allows us to speak of a dream without actually doing anything to move towards it.

Some people don’t need to hit rock bottom to start, but I did. I didn’t start writing until I was thirty-five—single and alone with a seventeen-month-old during the pandemic and a decade-long eating disorder that was wreaking havoc on my health. Working through PTSD in therapy and yoga, tired of talking about years of trauma and illness, I decided I needed to write. I signed up for a fiction writing class, and wrote the story of my father’s death—watching him slowly succumb to alcoholism as my eating disorder was taking root. I was, by far, the worst writer in the class. I didn’t have any interesting, imaginative stories to write, but I learned so much from my fellow writers. Everyone was kind and supportive, and it was the first time I allowed myself to stoke that fire.

Once I started, I couldn’t stop. I realized I could take small steps, that I didn’t need to wait until a time where I could pour all of my energy into writing. The reality is I have a child and cannot survive without the health insurance my job affords me. Do I have dreams of making a living solely through writing? Of course, but I also realize it’s impractical to leap off a cliff and sever ties with work. Some people have that privilege, but most of us don’t.

At the beginning of a new year, it’s tempting to come up with resolutions we’ll abandon by January. I gave up resolutions years ago, but each year, I ask myself where I can be more courageous. How is fear holding me hostage? As you look to this year, I encourage you to ask yourself the same questions. What dreams have you put on hold? What small action can you take to move it from an abstract idea to a reality? To start working towards a dream, all it takes is one tiny step forward.

I’ll leave you with a poem from my forthcoming poetry collection. Whenever I feel stuck, I reread this and remind myself it’s up to me to move towards what’s calling me.

What Are You Waiting For?

There will be no call to adventure.
No permission slip to flee the gilded cage.
No one is coming.
No savior. No prince. No fairy godmother.

It may feel easier to stay; for months,
perhaps years. Fear is a shackle,
and walls offer the illusion of safety.

But an albatross born in captivity 
always yearns for the sea, for open air, 
miles upon miles of freedom to explore.

When the ocean’s tide tugs at restless
blood, when bones sing a relentless song 
of freedom, when staying feels like dying, 
she can bear it no longer.

She unfurls massive wings, rusted with disuse—
unsteady, yet determined, she takes to the sky.

I’d love to hear from you. What dreams have you put on hold? What stories have you told yourself to keep from leaping? Looking forward to meeting with you in the comments.

P.S. If you enjoyed this essay, please click on the heart at the bottom or top of this e-mail. It helps others discover The Understory and brightens my day!

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I am immensely grateful to everyone who has pre-ordered my first poetry collection, If Adam Picked The Apple. It will be released on March 8th—the International Day of the Woman. Buy a copy for yourself or a friend (or both). Buy a copy for anyone who you think may need empowering poetry as we head into 2025. You can read the full write-up from my publisher HERE.

Pre-order Giveaway Updates!

Congratulations to Roxanne Moger who is the December pre-order giveaway winner! She’ll be receiving a box of goodies filled with warm, cozy items to get her through winter. For January, anyone who pre-orders a copy of my poetry collection will be entered into a giveaway filled with items to celebrate the friendships in our lives. I truly believe for many of us, our friends are the greatest loves of our lives, what better way to celebrate than with a box of activities and treats to bring you closer together? I’ll reach out to the winner January 31st for food allergies/sensitivities, so I can make sure it’s filled with items the winner can fully enjoy.

Monthly Writing Circle Updates

Our first writing circle of the year is this Tuesday, January 14th at 7 PM CST. We’ll be reading the work of Joy Harjo who served as the 23rd poet laureate and was the first Native American to hold this title.

Below are the poets we’ll be exploring the first six months of 2025 in our Poetry as Medicine writing circles. These 90-minute writing sessions are an opportunity to explore poetry and essays from writers all over the world and to use them as a jumping off point for our own self-exploration through writing. These are open to all tiers of paid subscribers. If you’re looking for laid-back community and a place to connect to yourself and others through writing and poetry in the new year, this space is for you.

7 PM CST on Tuesday, January 14th - Joy Harjo

10 AM CST on Sunday, February 16th - José Olivarez

7 PM CST on Wednesday, March 12th - Gabrielle Calvocoressi

7 PM CST on Thursday, April 17th - Alberto Ríos

7 PM CST on Tuesday, May 20th - Diane Seuss

10 AM CST on Sunday, June 22nd - Ilya Kaminsky