Being a Person on a Train

I’m on a train. It rolls along and I’m not responsible in any way for the rolling. I’m a passenger. The train has scheduled stops. It passes through the landscape, gathering speed then slowing down, before rolling into each station. Each station is labeled. From time to time, a train conductor passes through the car, voices on a radio. A little girl in the seat behind me reads out loud from her chapter book. Someone’s phone rings. We are heading south towards the city for my cousin’s wedding.

It looks like I had a lovely summer. And that is not untrue. It’s the kind of thing where you look back and suddenly you can’t even remember — all the days, the nights, the moving parts, the conversations and the day trips and the way things kept changing imperceptibly, which is so often how all changes happen, slowly. The summer began with Pearl’s bar mitzvah in mid-June and melanoma and surgery just a week or two later. There was the jarred-awake feeling of the word “cancer” and the relief of early detection and swift treatment. At the same time, I rented a beautiful office space in town and didn’t skimp on furnishing it with the best pink chairs, a writing desk, a gorgeous rug, and of course a bookshelf with twinkle lights and a jade plant from my mother’s driveway.

The decision to rent the office was not entirely impulsive; I’d been feeling ready to have “a room of my own” for a long time. But I also did not go into it with a long-term plan that would account for the additional expense. It was a classic “shoot, ready, aim” kind of move on my part, which is not unusual. It’s not that I don’t make plans, but at the same time, I am someone who gets energized by ideas, puts things out there, and then often figures out the “how” as I go. This is not an endorsement for living and working this way; like anything, there are pros and cons to shooting from the hip.

Sometimes I look at people who seem to be more methodical in their approaches to everything — writing, business, even activism and self-care — and I have a pang of envy. I should be more like that, I think. What I am really thinking is, “That looks easier.”

The search for “easier” is one that doesn’t usually go well, because it is rooted in a belief that what I’m doing is hard and maybe I’m doing it wrong and I should be better at it by now, and all kinds of other self-defeating thoughts. Not helpful.

But the truth is, sometimes it IS hard. I LOVE asking clients, “What would be easy?” And also, I think we have to make room for letting ourselves — let me rephrase that — I have to make room for letting myself — be honest and seen in the hard moments, too. And as I write this, I realize that one of the patterns and themes for me over these years of self-employment so far is thinking that I should only share when things are flowing along and I’m in a groove and I can be inspiring. It’s not unrelated to only sharing high points on social media; while I love seeing people’s high points, we all know that’s just a sliver of reality.

So as someone who writes and holds space for others to write more freely and honestly, it would follow that I would give myself this permission, to share more of the whole story, right? Right.

The catch is that fear is a beast.

Fear that if you see more of me, if you see me struggling, if you see me in moments when I am positively frozen with fear or gripped by anxiety that came roaring out of me after my gradual weaning off of the antidepressant I’ve been on for nearly 25 years, you will think, well, she is clearly not someone I want to work with. She isn’t as amazing as I thought.

But that’s it right there. That brings me back to the very thing I’ve been working to get free of my whole life: The lie of what “being amazing” really means.

Can I be amazing AND struggle? Can I be amazing AND fall apart sometimes?

Can I be honest? Can I show up?

Can I let you see me and I can I allow myself to write even when things feel turbulent, shaky, and uncertain?

There were some wonderful parts about driving cross-country this month. Spending that much time with Mani away from the day to day routines was awesome. We love each other’s company, something I never take for granted. We listened to two books and enjoyed the playlists Mani had spent months preparing. We got to see much of her extended family in Indiana, and it was the first time I finally got to meet many of her aunts, uncles, and cousins after years of connecting on social media and of course learning family stories from Mani herself. We loved rolling into a new city and getting a glimpse of longer trips we hope are in our future.

At the same time, I spent the first half of the trip dealing with some unexpected taxes stuff that made me feel like George Bailey in the first half of It’s a Wonderful Life, i.e. more than a little panicked. And for reasons I’m still sorting out, which may or may not have to do with a car accident in 1992, I was gripped by anxiety for a lot of the actual driving time, in a way that was pretty unprecedented and not at all fun. These are things you wouldn’t know or guess from the photos, right?

Oh my god, dear reader. The next six or so paragraphs I wrote literally just vanished. I was typing away and then I hit some key or another on my keyboard and something on the screen turned red and I hit escape and POOF. The whole thing vanished from after where I had last saved my work. My heart is beating fast and I kind of want to cry right now, this letting go, this letting go - it's like life saying, Jena, it's all impermanent so loosen your grip. Literally.

Lesson learned. The lesson? Well, save your work constantly as you go if you are on any kind of machine. But the bigger lesson? Oh, yes. The bigger lesson.

Poof.

Poof.

Poof.

I am on a train. We are always in motion. Even in stillness, everything is changing and will continue to change.

You will have to let go, over and over and over. And you will be ok.

Here I am, on a train. I lost several paragraphs of writing, writing I was actually pretty excited to share with you because it was REAL. It was honest. It was me showing up here and saying, well folks, this is more of me. This is a behind the scenes look at some of the harder parts of self-employment and life and keeping going, and I hope you will still want to be in my writing groups and you will still want to coach with me and you will still be here, you won't leave, after seeing the parts that are so much more vulnerable.

I was chatting on Messenger with a beloved writer this morning. She wrote, "It takes courage to face each day with courage, no matter the circumstances."

That could not be truer.

We never know what is going to happen next. So yes, I will keep going. But today, I am also renewing my commitment to showing up here as a whole person, one of sometimes wonders if I can keep going, if I should start applying for jobs, if I can possibly manage all of the things. Otherwise, what am I? A persona?

I do not want to be a persona. I want to be a person. A person on a train.

A person who is sometimes terrified. A person who is doing her best. A person who is bursting with ideas some days and wants to crawl under a rock other days. A person who wants more than anything to be able to show up fully, as myself, and to encourage you to do the same.