I had coffee this morning with a friend — at Steve’s Espresso. Once upon a time, I used to grade essays at Steve’s, back when it was a hole-in-the-wall, 200-square-foot coffee joint with white walls and pitiful decor. But it had damn good coffee. And damn good espresso.
So I made it a double this morning. A double with a dash of half and half.
It was a double kind of morning. I hadn’t seen my friend since, well, since we met for coffee at Steve’s almost exactly a year ago. As she jumped into her life events of the past year, I got the sense that she, like me, had lived five different lives in twelve months, filled with ups and downs and everything in between. As she told me the story of how, in a single day, she had both completed her final dose of chemo for breast cancer and received word that her husband had been diagnosed with liver cancer, I looked down at the table. She, too, was drinking a double espresso. Yes, it was a double kind of morning.
At one point, the topic of writing came up — inevitably, perhaps, given we were both teachers — and she asked, “Didn’t you write a book?”
Yes, and…no? I didn’t know how to respond. I wrote, and finished, a book this past fall and sent it along to book agents. I sent it to all of two agents when, lo and behold, within minutes (yes, minutes — I kid you not!), one of the agents sent me an email: “I just happened to be checking my email when yours came along,” he wrote.
Welp, to make a long story, uh, long, he read the manuscript and said, “No, thanks.” I was heartbroken, but not deterred. I emailed him back asking for guidance. He responded, “Rewrite this as a memoir and send it along.”
120,000 words later, I have a manuscript. I’m editing, and editing, and editing. Is it finished? No. Will I finish it? Yes.
“How do you know?” my friend asked.
“How do I know what?” I responded.
“That you’ll finish it?”
I thought deeply about the question. I have wanted to write — and publish — a book since I was in my early twenties. But writing a book takes a helluva lot of grit, energy, determination, dedication, planning, and time. Hours and hours and hours and hours of time. And time is so very precious. I know that.
Fame, glory, money, even the idea of achieving a goal — for me, these were all fleeting reasons, not strong enough for me to justify time. Nothing was strong enough to justify time. Nothing except…love.
The book is a memoir about my life with Pierre, my 23-year-old pup who passed away last August. It’s a love story, and my love for him is the only driving motivation. Fame or money, if these were my motivations, and the book would have died long ago.
I don’t care if it gets published or not. I don’t care if people read it or not. I don’t care if people think it’s silly or cheesy. My writing will be criticized, my life will be on display (which kinda scares the crap outta me), but I don’t care. My motivation is to capture him, and our life together, in words. If I can do that, and do it well, then he will live on: “So long as men can breathe and eyes can see, so long lives this, and this gives life to thee.”
I’ve given the anniversary of his passing as the deadline, a deadline that’s coming up. Fast. Time waits for no one. I know that.
I thought I knew about goal-setting. I’ve read books about goals and habits and guided my clients on goals. I wrote a blog post about SMART goals, and while there is much credence to SMART goals, something’s been missing, and it starts with the question, “Why?”
Take the great Odysseus. One of the most fascinating questions to ask of Homer’s great text is, “Why? Why does Odysseus keep going?” He leaves Calypso and forgoes a chance for immortality. He suffers trial after trial on the open seas, and yet, he continues on, towards his destination. Why?
Some say love for Penelope. Maybe. I say love for home. Love for Ithaca. Whether Penelope or Ithaca, love is what drives him. Love gives him the strength, courage, grit, and resiliency to continue forward in search of his goal.
Goals are great. They give us purpose when we need it most. But a goal, especially a really arduous one, has little sustenance if there is no love connected to it. Love is the water to make it grow. And maybe a little espresso.
In fact, make it a double.
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