This time last year, I was packing up my desk at an organization I had grown to consider a second home. There were a number of reasons for leaving, but – at the core of it – I couldn’t become who I needed to be if I stayed.
So I decided to give myself one year of magical thinking to explore what was possible. What was possible if I not only believed in my dreams, but invested time and energy into them? What was possible if I listened to my own intuition instead of other people’s doubts?
And thus began one of the most invigorating, restorative, and terrifying periods of my adult life. I jumped headfirst with fingers crossed and eyes closed, hoping a net would appear to break the fall. It wove together slowly, rope by rope, and I started becoming whole again.
November is National Novel Writing Month and National Adoption Awareness Month. I’ve carved out space – in my home, in my schedule, in my heart and mind – to write my story. The official goal is 50,000 words. Mine is: as many as it takes.
Things will probably get quieter here for awhile. I’ll be sharing my process on Instagram, if you’d like to follow along. Otherwise, I’ll see you on the other side with a draft of my memoir in hand. Happy #NaNoWriMo!