Personal Growth

Rebecca’s Story

How I Became an Editor

            When I decided to go to college as a forty-something, there was no question in my mind that I would be an English major. I was born to be an English major. I had no idea that the journey I was about to embark on would change me forever. I anticipated a degree broadening my job opportunities. I did not expect that every belief I’d ever held would be challenged or that I’d be forced to ponder the merits of my beliefs.

            After a series of unfortunate events and a hair-raising divorce, I found myself a middle-aged, empty nester, with no job skills except as an administrative assistant. Additionally, I was treading the waters of debilitating depression with no relief in sight. I took a long, practical look at my life. I sought treatment for the depression and enrolled in college. As daunting as the four years of higher education looked, at least I would be doing something for the next four years.      

            High anxiety, coupled with my depression, made the idea of taking face-to-face classes and interacting with people intimidating. I opted to take my freshman year of college online, comfortably tucked away in an oversized chair in my tiny house on seventeen acres.

            A new friend had observed me plugging away that year and decided she would go back to school and finish her degree. During a phone conversation, she encouraged me to ditch the online courses and attend classes. She loved the face-to-face experience and assured me that I would love it too. So, I enrolled in face-to-face classes and never looked back. I got through my sophomore year by fixing my eyes on the prize: upper-level English classes. I could tolerate math and science classes with the promise of immersing myself in all things English for the last half of my college career.

            My goal was to acquire my degree and then teach English as a second language. (TESOL). Romantic visions of traveling to and living in exotic places while bestowing the gift of the English language far and wide were extremely appealing. That goal was my driving force until my junior year. That was when, thanks to my upper-level English courses, I ran into thick walls of cognitive dissonance. That is, I was confronted with new information that conflicted with my existing beliefs and values. Yikes. I could not look away. I thought I had to keep my long-held beliefs or exchange them for new ones. In the end, I did both.

            When I realized how much I didn’t know that I didn’t know, I was overwhelmed. My upbringing had placed life and all its complexities into a tidy box labeled truth. My humanities classes handed me a Pandora’s box; I opened it wide and grappled with every idea and story that came tumbling out of it. Introspective and willing to hear different narratives, I opened my mind to the world around me and began to think for myself for the first time in my life.

            In my junior year, I changed my minor from TESOL to writing. I have been an avid reader and writer for as long as I can remember. My writing and literature classes taught me to read and write in critical ways. I learned about the structure of books and what to look for when revising papers and short stories. In an advanced composition class, I studied the delicate art of revision. The training I received in my literature and writing courses honed skills that opened the door to my current job as an associate editor for Cup & Quill.

            Dr. Tucker was one of my English professors and also my neighbor. One night, while riding home together from class, she asked if I would look at a manuscript that she was editing. I agreed, and based on my work, she hired me as a junior editor. Little did I know that I had landed the job of my dreams.

            Editing is so much more than correcting grammar and syntax. Good editors take a holistic approach. Yes, it’s about proper writing, but it’s also about the story. As an editor, I am taking someone’s thoughts and creativity and honing them into something transferable to the masses. Editing is important work. There is no way of knowing how someone’s story is going to affect another’s life. It would be a shame if stories went untold just because someone hadn’t done well in an English class, once upon a time.

Editing allows me to meet people from all over the country. I consider it a privilege to read and help others polish their stories. It humbles me to be part of a process that makes someone’s words available to the world. You see, words matter and so do the people who write them. When a writer chooses to place their work with Cup and Quill, they can rest assured that they are not just a word count. That’s why I am committed to engaging with both writers and their words seriously, carefully, and respectfully. To play a role in helping others tell their stories and fulfill their dreams is a pleasure. It seems that the adage is true; when you love what you do, you’ll never work a day in your life.

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Wine & Words 2019 Comes to an End

Today Sara, Shannin, and I head home from our Wine & Words Writing Treat in Branson, Missouri. We’ve had a lovely and productive time since we arrived on Wednesday. Each of us tackled a range of writing and work related projects ranging from a scholarly article on “Pretty Little Liars” to freshman composition syllabuses.

We “pommed” religiously, more or less, in keeping with the practice we’ve established through our Facebook writing group called Write-ins for Academics. “Pomming” is the term we use to describe our way of keeping our butts in the chair when writing. It’s a tried and true method of increasing productivity and efficiency called the Pomodoro Technique. Essentially, you work in 25 minute increments, followed by 5 minute breaks. That’s one “pom.”

You’re not supposed to do more than 4 consecutive poms without taking at least a 30 minute break. As a purist, I stick to the 25/5 model for pomming though some in WIFA (Ha! Now we have an acronym so we’re officially official!) are known to work in 50/10 minute poms. I knew I was truly a control freak when, as the founder and administrator of the group, I had a quiet little meltdown in my head because people were breaking the “pom” rules of order. (I’m working on that tendency of mine, I promise.)

When I first heard about “pomming” I was skeptical. I was certain I’d lose my train of thought in the five minute breaks. On the contrary, however, those breaks keep me from going brain dead when writing. Rarely do I write to that horrid state of exhaustion where it seems that all the words in the world have been taken. Pomming has also taught me that if you spend even a short time on something most days of the week, you can actually produce something. On busy days, squeezing in one pom, or even a truncated pom (15/5–oh the horror!) yields more than a pomless day yields. I have been lax about my research of late, but I can’t blame it on lack of time.

Like everyone else, I have 24 hours a day to get things done. That means I have 168 hours a week to work with.  If I sleep 8 hours a night (56 /week), eat/cook 3 hours a day, , work 8 hours a day M-F , CrossFit 1 hour a day M-F, and do horse things 8 hours a week, I still have 38 hours a week left to do other things. Wow.

Now, I know of no academic who works only 40 hours a week. So, there’s that. Likewise, I do grocery shop and drive to and from school and CrossFit and so on. Still, that leaves a lot of hours just begging to be used productively.

 

I know lots of people aren’t fans of New Year Resolutions. I am a fan of them because I love beginnings and endings. I love fresh starts and invitations to take stock of how things are working or not working in some realm or other. That’s what beginnings and endings are; they’re opportunities to regroup and get back on track with things that are already priorities and set new ones.

So, as my friends and I prepare to head home from our few days of indulgence in wine and words, I’m reestablishing my personal priorities and planning how best to use those 38 hours that it is so easy to waste. At the top of my list of priorities is getting back on track with eating habits that are in line with my fitness goals. As Coach Ben says, “all the lemon squeezes in the world can’t make up for a crappy diet.” My showmanship pants, which have grown ridiculously snug, or rather I have grown and thus my pants are snug, support Ben’s claim. So it goes. That’s a fixable problem.

This morning we will restore the cabin to the state of neutralness in which we found it and head out. I’ll have about 6 hours to think about my priorities and I’m looking forward to that time. It’s a new year with no mistakes in it yet, more or less. I’ve decided it is going to be a good one.

 

 

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The Color Purple

This may not be the most profound thing anyone has ever written, but it is on my mind.
Be on the lookout for purple–in other people, in the things they do, and in the world around you. It’s there.

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Why Being Not Okay, is Okay

It is okay not to be okay. This I have learned from two friends and my significant other who have lost children to terrible diseases in the recent past. I don’t know that anyone can truly “get” the enormity of the grief that comes with losing a child unless one has actually lost a child. However, I believe my friends and partner when they talk about how heavy that grief is at times. It sounds unbearable and yet it must be borne.

People say the most insensitive things to parents who’ve lost children. More often than you’d imagine, people (and I’m willing to bet I’ve been one of them) say things that they intend to be comforting, but which feel like daggers to the heart of a grieving parent. For example, someone told one of my friends that, although it is a terrible thing to lose a child, it would have been worse if she’d lost her husband because then her other daughters wouldn’t have a dad. Evidently, the loss of sister didn’t rank as high on the scale of bad things that happen in that person’s eyes. Attempting to rank the significance of another’s loss is always a bad idea.

Time Does Not Heal All Wounds

My friends have taught me that time does not heal all wounds. In fact, when it comes to losing a child, the opposite may be true. That is, for many parents who’ve lost a child, grief actually intensifies over time. One friend shared that she’d expected her pain to be less acute once the first anniversary of the death of her daughter had passed. That was not the case. On the contrary, as the numbness that set in immediately after her daughter died wore off, the pain became more acute.

If that didn’t already suck enough, others sometimes assume that time has done its healing thing. They may expect the grieving parent to be ready to “move on.” It’s almost like there’s an unwritten statute of limitations about how long a grieving parent can take to settle into a new normal. Whether we like to admit it or not, many people secretly hope that the new normal will relieve others from having to tippy-toe around the discomfort of navigating another’s grief. Such hope, unspoken or not, conscious or not, risks making a grieving parent hide his or her grief, in the interest of others’ comfort. So begins an existence that may feel inauthentic to the person living it.

Sometimes asking how someone is doing is more about the asker than the askee. Maybe we ask because we want the other person to say “I’m okay.” After all, “I’m okay” signals that we don’t have to navigate an encounter with a grieving person. I’m not saying we don’t want our friends to be okay. Of course we do. Let’s be honest though. A friendship, or any relationship for that matter, is much easier when those pesky emotions like grief don’t get in the way of what is easy and comfortable.

My significant other just lost his son. I am seeing what that grief looks like up close. I want it to go away, but I know it is here to stay.

My goal is to resist any self-serving urge to try and move him into a “better” space where grief isn’t as visible and life is more fun. I know that a grieving person might not even be able to imagine such a space, let alone go there when invited. It’s important that I learn to be okay with his not-okayness.

This is new terrain for me. It’s hard to resist repeating the scripts that are supposed to make others feel better. They may work in some instances, but they have no impact on the pain of a grieving parent. When it comes to a parent’s grief over the loss of a child, nothing can or will fix what isn’t okay. Not now and not ever. That sucks.

I suspect there is a love language in which to communicate with grieving parents. I’m trying to learn what that language is and how to speak it. I know I’m going to fail often in my attempts. I’m going to try anyway. When you love someone, that’s just what you do.

Running Hills: Why We Should Do Things the Hard Way

Hill Training

Sometimes doing things the hard way is good. Any runner will tell you this. In junior high and high school, I ran on a city track club called the Edmonton Huskies–if you’re from Alberta, there is no connection to the football team, if you’re wondering. Hill training was a big part of our program. As I recall, we usually ran hills on Wednesdays or Fridays during outdoor season. Sometimes we did “30 X a hill” on a long, moderately steep grade. Other times we did “6 X a hill” on a very steep grade, usually made of grass or dirt. Stairs counted as hill training too. Edmonton runners know, and many love, the long flight of stairs from the river valley to the downtown area. I bet someone can tell me the exact number of stairs on that flight. That workout was one of my favorites, especially in the fall when the trees in the river valley showed out. Running hills was an important part of developing both strength and endurance. Thanks to Michael Cameron for sharing this picture of his running group on the stairs!

river valley stairs in Edmonton

 

Years later, I was living in Thornhill, Ontario–part of Toronto–while attending York University. The area where I lived was very hilly. My running routes ranged from 5k to 8 miles and each one of them included terrain full of rolling hills. Hills ceased to phase me after a certain point. They were just part of running.

Take Ten

One year, as part of my preparation for a fall half-marathon (my first), I signed up for a ten-miler. I chose one called “The Run Through Hell” at Hell Creek Ranch in Kalamazoo, Michigan. Who wouldn’t want to run a race with all of those names attached to it? It seemed like a good choice.

On race day, I showed up feeling nervous. It was my first crack at a ten miler and I’d not run further than nine miles in practice. As luck would have it, it was POURING rain. Registration was in a little barn and runners had to wade through mud to get inside. After collecting my number and a super cool t-shirt that said “I Ran Through Hell,” I returned to my vehicle to change my soaked socks. Trying to warm up in the elements seemed futile. All I could think was, “this isn’t going to be good.” I briefly considered backing out.

Thankfully, the rain stopped just before the scheduled start time. As we mingled around the starting line, I overheard people who’d run the race before talking about how hilly the course was. I was already nervous about the distance. The hill talk wasn’t helping.

The Run Through Hell

When the gun went off, I headed off with the pack. The race was on gravel roads and the course was quite pretty. Despite the lack of a warmup, I felt good. It was warm, but not too warm, and my legs felt ready to do what I needed them to do. My plan was to finish in 1:30 and it seemed that the stars were lining up in my favor. In the back of my mind, though, was the thought of the hills that everyone had buzzed about. I knew it was wise to play it a little safe until I saw what there was to see.

I don’t remember how far into the course we were when the hills met us on the road. Runners around me started to struggle on the inclines and I expected to struggle along with them. I took each hill, one at a time, with the words of Edmonton Huskies’ coach, Gerard Lemieux, in my head: “increase the effort up the hills; keep up the pace.” When there was a downslope, I let the hill do the work. (In a ten miler, that works; in a marathon, the downhills can hurt as much as the uphills, especially in the last miles, but I was not to learn that for a few years.)

I finished the Run Through Hell in 1:29:29. It was tough, to be sure. But here’s the thing. I’d done my homework. I’d put in the miles in the months leading up to the race. I followed the program Lou Hetke, a former Huskies’ teammate cum personal trainer, had made me. And I was lucky to live in a hilly area of the city so my body was not thrown by the hilly course because I ran on hills every day. Hills were my friend. They challenged me, but I’d prepared to meet the challenges they posed because of where I ran regularly.

Life’s Hills: Do things the hard way!

I can’t tell you how often I hear students complain about their university courses being hard. Some make a point of avoiding professors whose courses are known to be rigorous. I’m sure you also know people who seek the easy route no matter what. I’ve never understood this. What’s the point of taking the easy road as a matter of course? Where is the satisfaction in that? What parts of life’s journey does taking the easy road prepare us for?

I learned a lot of things from my years as a runner. Among the most important is that when we train on hills regularly in practice, we’re ready to tackle them when we find ourselves on a hilly race course. The work we put in ahead of time is what allows us to pass those who opted out of the hill workouts when they had a choice. The same is true in just about every other aspect of life, don’t you think?

When we push ourselves in any realm, we learn how to perform when we find ourselves facing a challenge of one type or another. Pushing ourselves regularly doesn’t guarantee that we won’t meet a challenge that kicks our butt. Hill training doesn’t guarantee we won’t see God at the end of a hard, hilly race. Pushing ourselves regularly does guarantee that when we face challenges we’re ready to rise to them.

Life is full of hills. At the end of the day, though, our lives will be fuller if we spend them climbing every hill we can find and not avoiding them in favor of an easy route. If there is one thing I know for sure, it’s that when my race is over I want to have left it all on the course. Don’t you?

As always, thank you for reading. I appreciate you.