For several years now, I’ve had numerous people tell me I
should write a book. They read or hear stories of my life, and then proclaim I
need to write about it.
I usually smile and say thank you, but inside, my only thought is, “I don’t know how to write a book.” So I don’t do anything with their advice.
From the time I can remember I’ve taken most people’s counsel
to heart and even felt a sense of “obligation” that I should follow through
with their guidance. Which for most of my life has created a sense of
pandemonium in my brain.
Learning how to push-off…
Our little cottage in Napa was so nice, nestled on a hill, covered in trees. But because of its location, I had terrible cell service at home. So during that summer when I was dealing with Judd’s bizarre behavior, I’d take my phone and go for walks.
I would call my best friend and talk things over with her and find support and encouragement from her. And then I’d just walk for miles and miles, thinking.
I’ve always loved to hike and there have been many times in my life that walking was the only thing that kept me going. This was one of those times. My youngest son was training for a marathon and encouraged me to try running.
I laughed and said I never saw myself as a runner.