Dancing in the Kitchen
A book proposal update and navigating emotions.
Sweet relief. I am feeling good.
I can clearly see that I am not a troll. It’s obvious. Look at how bright I am!
Then I browse through drafts of entries I wrote last month in a plateau—a familiar descent—and think, “Ew, Ashley. What’s with all the stiff grumpiness?” Except, I know how it feels to be in it and I know that those feelings are very, very real. The laziness and apathy pull at me, but I try desperately not to relate to it. The annoyance of everyday tasks reverberates through my cells, but I refuse to own it. The desire to give my career away and sneak off to a remote cabin in Colorado is tangible, but I choose not to act.
I also know these feelings will return, much to my chagrin. Despite my best efforts and intentions, my emotions rise and fall like the jagged granite peaks of the Sierra Mountains—beautiful, sharp, traitorous. I am both the cheerful optimist who sees the best in all that I do, and also a lethargic troll trudging through my days, grasping for the sunshine to return.
I say this because I want you to know that my non-profit, and what I am creating with my book and public speaking, do not come to me easily. When I am in a flow—when my emotions are on the rise—the motivation and opportunities to continue are plentiful. I feel the morning stillness and I am blissful, feeling confident in my days. I can go anywhere. I can talk to anyone. I dance in the kitchen, feeling assured that everything is as it should be. Here’s what I know and love about the rise–I am unstoppable.
And here’s how I’ve come to see my striving each day; each week; each month. It’s like that old school wooden roller coaster at Six Flags Great America. In the distance, it’s huge and undulating and rising into the sky. I see it and think, Let’s ride that. Upon it though, I look around and question my surroundings. Is this safe? I mean, it’s made out of wood and I’m hardly strapped in. My cart jolts forward and there’s no going back. Up, up, up I go, all the while telling myself, this is okay. I can do this. Look at the view! My heart rate quickens and I go up. I look around in wonder, and also stare longingly at the ground, all the while knowing I can’t possibly be content staying in one place. At the top, my cart careens over the side and I plummet while screaming. WHAT THE FUCK! WHY AM I DOING THIS? This is a horrible idea and I need to exit. Why did I even want to go up? Why did I get on? Down and around, I’m winding out of control. Sometimes back up, sometimes down; all very fast while both hating and loving the experience. I acclimate to the speed, twists and turns. I feel acutely alive in the proximity of my uncomfortableness. I don’t control the cart, but I can control my focus. I breathe. I find that I can scream and laugh at the same time. Just as I get my bearings, I’m back at the gate–breathless and grasping the handles of my cart with my skin covered in goosebumps. Holy fuck, I think. Let’s do that again!
And I wait to go up.
I am certain that if my life were a predictable straight line I’d be bored to death, so I see the value in this batshit crazy ride. But I will tell you it’s hard to accept it when I’m going through a dreary turn. I just hold on and wait for my cart to get to a place I enjoy again.
I’m on this ride, and I simply just continue to show up. That’s a commitment I made to God a long, long time ago. I will show up. What other choice do I have? (Trust me, I’ve asked for other choices). And really, I have done all the things that I know of to control the rise and fall of my motivation, only to be subject to the whim of human emotions after all. So here I am, in my rollercoaster cart, working on publishing my book. I submitted the draft of my proposal to the NYC Editorial company on the 31st of May, which took three months longer than I wanted it to. This step is like entering the gate again. I had a book proposal, which I thought was solid and the conclusion of an important step. But when it was compared to what the editorial company recommends, mine needed some work (which took some acceptance because I did follow a reputable online guide and I did work on mine for quite some time). I wonder what it will take to complete it. How much back and forth will there be? How long will it take?
I’m on the rise, so I see the good in each step. I know this work is another brick on the foundation. I believe my experiences will travel. I read pieces of my book and think with conviction, Why not this story? Fuck yeah, this story! When I’m plummeting though, I worry that this will be one of those great tales that just doesn’t catch. Like, it’s profound to me and the community of people who love it, but when I’m wrestling to feel good I wonder if what I’ve created is too niche (too much, too hard, too big) for larger groups.
For today though, I’m not worried about it. I’m captivated by the brilliant morning sunrise, dancing in the kitchen.