In late summer 2019, I was putting the finishing touches on Courage Says “Keep On,” a book about my grandmother, Rachel Whitcomb, and her experiences as a social worker in New England cities from 1913 to 1922.
In July 2024, I finished Looking for the Golden Thread, a book about my experiences teaching and practicing t’ai chi ch’üan.
I’ve been a writer all my life, but I’ve only been writing books for a decade – not counting the thinking and researching parts. The second time around, I seemed to have a better handle on some of the elements and expectations. That was helpful, particularly when it came to managing time, resources and energy.
What I didn’t fully take in until the second time through, was how the writing process wove itself into my life, and how life wove itself into the writing process. These days, having completed Looking for the Golden Thread, I miss its ongoing presence and companionship. The finished product took that away from me; there’s nothing else to think about, reflect on, or add. That’s great in terms of the tyranny of the to-do list, but I feel strangely empty and lonely.
I know I’ll be buoyed up by holding the book in my hands, hearing all the good things people will say, and savoring that dream-come-true feeling. Right now, though, I realize that the “job well done” moment needs to be more than a small moment that I give myself before planning events, getting the word out, etc., etc.
All that is a blank slate, because most of it didn’t happen the last time around. Big changes came my way a few months after Courage Says “Keep On” came out in October 2019.
Book release party – check that box, big success! Then came the COVID crash and my father’s death in March of 2020. Book tours – nope. Campaign to pitch the title to the academic community – big fizzle. Promotional energy mindset – subzero. Instead, I spent the rest of 2020 grieving, worrying, writing blog posts, hiking solo and finding community where and when it existed.
Looking for the Golden Thread suggested itself as I began reconnecting with my tai chi ch’üan community. It is all about connections. Threads. How they weave themselves into my life, and how my life weaves itself into the threads of the book.
Today, I think about those connections, and I think about what’s been lost, what’s been gained, and what’s changed for me since Courage Says “Keep On” was born. Losses: Many and profound. Gains: Many and cherished. Changes: Too numerous and fast-occurring to count.
As terrifying as it is to admit, my writer’s heart still beats. I am not finished connecting and weaving, and I don’t know how that will play out.
Meanwhile, the threads of Looking for the Golden Thread are still tightly woven into my heart, mind and spirit. If I could sit in a nice clear lake inside my mind, that would help undo those threads and allow them to dissolve out into the water, like the graceful tentacles of a jellyfish. Not ready to be yanked free because I’ve “finished” the book. That feels disorienting and painful. Just rest, gently rest, and gently unspool.
