Welcome to Flailing Into My Forties, a blog that I’m kicking off on my fortieth birthday. I plan to use this space to document and celebrate my many adventures – and undoubtedly misadventures as well – on the road as a nomad. I’ll also share stories, observations, and reflections as I ease into this new decade of life with a goal to find more ease and comfort, even within periods of great discomfort and uncertainty.
I arrive at the age of 40 the same way many middle-aged folks do: living a life far different than the one I expected. Not that my expectations for life at forty, or any other age, were set in stone. I was never one of those folks who had it all sketched out in childhood – except for that brief period around ages 6-8 when I was planning to have 20 kids, 10 girls and 10 boys! – but even seemingly predictable aspects of life wound up going all topsy-turvy on me.
Most of us never expected a global pandemic to hit or had any idea how that would shift and reshape each of our lives. Several other surprising twists and turns came my way around the time the pandemic hit and even more in the years since. Here’s a brief highlight reel for context-setting:
- For the first time in my life, I was fired from a job and found myself unemployed.
- I got divorced and moved out on my own, shortly thereafter finding myself utterly isolated as quarantine began.
- I started a new job at a nonprofit tech start-up that taught me what burnout is and how hard it is to recover from.
- Months after receiving my master’s in nonprofit management and public policy, I quit that 9-5 without much of a plan.
- After nearly 20 years in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, I decided somewhat on a whim to give up my apartment and become a nomad with no permanent residence.
- I was diagnosed with ADHD and learned that all of the coping mechanisms I’d developed over the years it had gone undiagnosed apparently break down in periods of prolonged high stress.
In the midst of all this tumultuousness, somehow good things still came about, not the least of which has been getting back in touch with my creative side. As a child, I was certain that I’d grow up to be an author. I began journaling early in life before I could even write, thanks to my mom who initially transcribed my entries. The intricate plot lines that my Barbies enacted made evident my interest in storytelling and world-building. Throughout school, I lived for the annual Young Author’s submission period, writing on the fly based on prompts with the Power of the Pen team, and serving as Editor for the short-lived junior high newspaper.
When I reached college, I had no idea what I wanted to do professionally, so I chose two majors – one that I was interested in and passionate about (English Writing) and one that I figured had at least some semblance of a chance in landing me a job someday (Communications). I was blessed with amazing teachers during my time at the University of Pittsburgh. Bruce Dobler, in particular, inspired me to believe in my talent and affirmed that I had stories worth sharing. Mike Streilly shared his belief that the world can be changed with words and encouraged me to become a storyteller. Jeanne Marie Laskas challenged me to think harder about what I was trying to say and become receptive to feedback.
In spite of carrying my commitment to writing into my collegiate career and excelling, I let my spark of creativity go dormant once I had my degree in hand. I was fortunate to wind up in jobs that allowed me to refine my technical skills by crafting content for organizational publications that I was responsible for, including East End Food Co-op’s monthly newsletter and The Pittsburgh Promise’s semi-annual magazine. But I wrote nothing for myself; I even let journaling fall to the wayside.
I can only speculate on the reasons why that occurred and that’s a different story for another day. But what I will share is how grateful I am to once again have a regular writing practice. It arose in a most unexpected fashion, by way of starting to write poetry. I never fancied myself a poet and I’d actually set out to work on fiction and nonfiction. Yet one day I found myself writing stanzas on a scrap of paper, which turned into a growing file folder full of scraps of paper, which eventually became me giving myself permission to buy an actual notebook and label it poetry in acknowledgement that this was a real thing I was doing.
Funnily enough, though, I still couldn’t get myself to sit down and write any of the many stories churning around my head. Lists of ideas were compiled. A few scheduled writing sessions rendered a paragraph here and there, or a couple pages on a really good day. But the pressure I was putting on the desire was too great and those little seedlings opted to stay far underground.
Meanwhile, the poetry continued to flow. A lot of it was awful, but since I never planned to be a poet at all, let alone a good one, I was liberated from expectations and able to crank out numerous poems a day, with rarely a day missed. As is the case with just about anything you do on a daily basis, eventually I started to improve.
I only recently began to share my poetry publicly, having attended my first open mic in Norfolk, Virginia, last month. Soon my first published piece will appear in Trailer Park Quarterly and submissions are out elsewhere for consideration. You can find a few selections on the Written Works page, which I will periodically refresh with new content.
As I began to feel more energized about writing poetry, the motivation and focus finally crept over into other genres and over the past two months I began a new long-form fiction tale and published a couple of short stories on Reedsy, one of which you can find on the Written Works page.
As I revive my childhood dream of becoming an author, I want to thank all of you for being here as I take this next step of making more space in my life for creating and summoning the courage to share things out. I’m not sure where this journey will take me, but your feedback and encouragement will certainly be welcome along the way!
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