Thank You For Coming To My TED Talk

“Thank you for coming to my TED talk!”

I almost laugh out loud as my inner voice makes this statement in my head. Most mornings, I am on the elliptical walking at a moderate pace while my thoughts and ideas jump from place to place. One day I imagine my book signing. I let my thoughts run wild. Another day I think of what the documentary premiere would look like. Yet another day, my thoughts are consumed by work. I run through the list of open items I have and prioritize the ones I should work on that day. It is a very rare day if I am not consumed by thoughts.

Today was no exception. I started with writing a blog in my head. Then I wondered for a bit about what it would be like to just wind up and move someplace totally remote. For a while, my mind lingered on the children and how fast they are growing. I imagined them all independent and fierce in their own right.

I imagined me giving them sage advice as they prepare to fly the nest and realized with a start that there really is no advice to share. Everything I have learned in life has come from falling, failing and picking myself up.

All through school and college, I pursued STEM because I did not know better. I definitely was not interested. I coasted along, doing the bare minimum, skating the edge between failing badly and doing just enough to keep my place in the herd.

I was ambitious without the supporting effort that goes into climbing those ladders. I watched my peers work into the night and spend time outside of work understanding what they were working on. I thrived on the social aspects, doing just about what was needed to keep me going. I switched jobs because boredom set in. I eyed the corner office as I signed up for an MBA. Post-MBA, I refused to take flight because it would mean leaving my brood behind. I sabotaged myself in more ways than I care.

I pursued motherhood with the same ambition. At least in this pursuit, I truly believed and wanted what I was aspiring for. Despite setbacks, I kept on pushing harder, stretching the envelope so to speak. Eventually, when motherhood came along, I realized it happened despite my efforts not because of them.

I have been writing in earnest since 2005. In 2015, I took myself seriously and actually attempted a novel-length story. I queried, I researched, I learned everything there was to learn about pitching, finding agents, self-publishing and becoming an author. I formally went to school, I attended conferences and workshops. I submitted to places in hopes of finding my name in print. I wrote book proposals and traded critiques with friends. Eventually, I tired myself out and decided to write just for the joy of sharing. I let go of that race toward a goal and satisfied myself with seeing those words in my head find a form on the blog.

Each of my pursuits has been dogged. They have been intense. They have been filled with rejection more than acceptance. Each journey has been an experience I cherish. The one common thread in all my life experiences has been the letting go.

It is when I finally reach that place in my head when I am ready to divest my effort from the outcome, that the magic happens. Does that mean I should not pour myself, heart and soul, into my endeavors? On the contrary, I should. I should because I enjoy the intellectual high that comes from being so invested in something. It only means that I should learn to enjoy the journey, not keep my eyes focused on the end goal. The goal is just a sign, a post that states you have arrived.

It just means the journey can be endless, a forever torturous path taking me on new adventures that mean detours and destinations I was not headed to.

Even as everything settled in my head, that voice piped up.

“Thank you for coming to my TED talk!”

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