Life's a Journey of Discovery

Every time I think I finally have life figured out another wave rolls over my head.

Having recently had my first book published, working on getting the second in print, and putting in the time to build my new career, I'm busy to say the least.

So when my eldest brother called to tell me he was bringing my mother to visit I thought, I'll take a minute and see her, then get back to the grind.

After all, she's literally driven from her home in Idaho across the expanse of the States to North Carolina where I live. She's 74 years old and it's a stretch at best for her to go outside her comfort zone.

We embrace warmly in spite of the fact that she's fully clothed with multiple layers in the way of the religion I grew up in and I'm wearing shorts and a t-shirt which she disproves of. She comes into my home and we laugh and visit and connect over the meaning of life. I've just began thinking that I have it all figured out when my nephew, who drove her here looks across at me and says, "So Ada, I heard that you wrote a book."

Mother freezes where she sits in front of me, my hands on her shoulders, me having just combed her long white hair for her, then she looks up, "You wrote a book?"

The wave crashes over my head and I'm still trying to catch my breath as everyone stares at me waiting for my response. My husband who knows me so well is giving me a sympathetic look because he knows I haven't told most of my family about my writing. I force a bright smile, notice my eyes still have that wide "deer caught in the headlights" look and force them to relax, then squeeze her shoulders, "You know me mother, I've always written stories." I brush it off as though it's nothing of concern.

But it is. What is coming is inevitable. Whether or not she'll think I've officially been deemed a child of the devil when she sees it in print or reads my worldly wicked words. Will she still talk to me afterward? Or will she spend the rest of her life drowning in her sorrow for my lost soul?

I spent the next two days alternating between guilt for not fully owning my truth and the wisdom that suggested to me in the first place that honesty would likely cause more harm than good and wouldn't really help anyone.

But the truth is this. My discovery today is that fear aside, I am who I am, and no amount of wishing everyone can love and appreciate who I am makes it true.

I will have those who love me and those who don't. So, really the only question is, do I love myself enough to honor my truth and claim my freedom regardless.

I'm still riding the end of this one and excited as well as a little afraid if I'm honest, of my coming journey. The next wave is coming and I can either lean in and embrace it or I can let it body slam me against the ocean floor.