leaning into the unexpected
questions to ground us when difficult things come our way
Hey hey! Before we get into today’s post, I have a huge favor to ask you. If you purchased a copy of my new book, A More Beautiful Way to Live, especially from Amazon, would you please stop reading this blog for a moment and go leave a review? It’s a serious game-changer for me as an author and will help others find the book. Thank you!
Hello Friends,
The days and weeks after a book release, at least for me, are equal parts relief and remembering.
The relief is a deep exhale. It’s like I’d been holding my breath for months as my inner landscape filled with questions like who cares? and who’s going to read this? and what if they hate it? While I hoped the book would be helpful, there was also a part of me planning for the worst, so the time leading up to publication day was filled with doubts. Thankfully, those doubts quieted as book release day came and went. I wrote what I wrote, I said what I said, and the book is what it will be. I’m in the practice of accepting such reality of things. It keeps me steady.
Then there is the remembering. Remembering the little pieces of myself I placed on the shelf while I waited for this one thing, the book, to take flight. Remembering the questions I wanted to explore and the ideas I hoped to linger over, the projects I wanted to start and the conversations I wanted to have. Remembering dreams, ideas, and possibilities, all seeds, sitting back patiently, awaiting their time to take up space in the little garden of my life.
I imagine this is the way with things, for all of us, when we press pause on one area of of our lives in order to invest our best energy into a different area. Like trees in winter time, or sprouts in spring, most of us can really only do a few things well in any given season, meaning most else must be knocked a few rungs down the ladder of priorities.
This lesson has been coming to me full force as of late as pressures from my full-time job ramped up rather unexpectedly. I’ve been navigating a torrent of anxiety and difficult choices as I hold the responsibilities of leading an organization alongside my vocation as an author. And these difficulties have brought when them all the things I worked hard to buffer my life against, namely sleepless nights, racing thoughts and fearful ruminations. These two big and important things, my work and vocation, are sitting alongside other big and important things, like my family and faith and the need to rest. It’s been harder than I thought it’d be. I’m praying for wisdom because I really don’t know what I’m doing. I thought I’d have these things figured out by now.
In A More Beautiful Way to Live, I write about how the most challenging seasons of our lives often carry the wisdom we need most. As I find myself just past the huge milestone of releasing my book, and holding these difficult professional dynamics and responsibilities, here are some of the questions I keep coming back to in hopes of finding my footing and tapping into my roots, even in the midst of disorientation, anxiety, and fear:
What is this moment teaching me? What am I learning?
What uncomfortable truth or reality do I not want to see? What am I avoiding?
What can I anchor into? Or who? Who has my back no matter what?
What’s the worst thing that can happen? If that happens, how can I respond? (This question is a doozy, I know, but in a weird way, it helps because even the worst thing I can think of is often more manageable than I imagine it to be.)
What can I do? Where do I have agency, power, and choices? Even choices that are uncomfortable or costly?
And then, alongside these questions, are prayers:
God, I need you.
God, help.
God, even for this, thank you.
Life can be a stern teacher. We reach new heights and we achieve great things. We encounter huge roadblocks that alter our course. We do our best, and we succeed. We do our best, and we fail. We plan and plan and even still, things we don’t see coming bring us to our knees. This seems to be the way of things.
So we nurture our roots. We lean into reality. We find sustenance in our love and care for one another. We water our lives in prayer. We wait for God. We try again tomorrow.
I pray you find sweet relief, moments of pause, and deep exhales as you move through your days. I pray that even as life’s pressures rise, you find strength and direction in the remembrance of who you are and of what you value most.
Until next time,
Bethaney