“…this is joy even if the subject matter is not so joyous. We are here to connect, to feel, to bear witness.”
It’s been a very busy year. Nicholas Eternal, a book I wrote back in 2015, was finally published this past summer. The next book in the Ares series, Losing Ares, came out in October, and the memoir that I wrote with my adult child, Finn, You’re Not a Murderer: You Just Have Harm OCD, about living with obsessive compulsive disorder and intrusive thoughts, was published in November. Stealing Ares, the first book in the Ares series, won Georgia Author of the Year in the romance category. That was a proud moment, to be sure.
You’d think that would mean this year was just one big celebration. Instead, it was just a lot of worrying about marketing. Am I doing enough and in the right places? I can’t help but ask myself, are these things making me happy? Then again, as my cussing nun in Stealing Ares tells Harlow Hanson when she asks her if she’s happy, “Happy is subject to shifting moods, fleeting. I’m… joyous.” So, here we are, with the much better question, “Am I joyous?”
Maybe some of you can relate. I have a driven personality. If you combine that with growing up in an atmosphere where nothing was done for you, and even help was rare, you never really gain a sense of security. You come to understand that if you are to achieve something, anything, you must work for it. Relentlessly. No one is going to swoop in and do it for you. This may sound good. Right? Discipline. Dedication. However, like most things in life, without moderation…off the rails we go.
As I sift through the book launches and marketing plans searching for the joy, a memory surfaces of my daughter at 5 years old running her hand down the wood grain on the side of the house. The world seemed to slow for her, came into focus, and she was just there, noticing that there was texture and pattern in a single plank of wood. She was in that moment doing nothing else, then she looked up at me and smiled.
At the Women’s Wellness Conference in October where I debuted my memoir, You’re Not a Murderer: You Just Have Harm OCD, I experienced a profound connection as a woman walked up to me, picked up my book, and said softly, “I think this is what is wrong with my son.” All the chatter in the lobby faded into the background. I looked into her eyes and saw the pain of a mother who’d been searching for answers and feeling inadequate. I know this pain well. This was the first of many such encounters. They happen nearly any time I’m out in public selling this book. I am not worried about marketing when these moments occur. I’m not thinking about Amazon rankings, reviews, ratings, or any other thing that will never really bring me true joy, I’m in the moment making a connection with another soul. For me, this is the very definition of soul: transcendent, powerful yet quiet, present—this is joy even if the subject matter is not so joyous. We are here to connect, to feel, to bear witness.
I guess I do experience joy, just not in the way I expected to, and I’m working on slowing down and celebrating now and then. I’ve come to understand I need work in this area, to say the least.
As the year winds down, I want to thank you for your support and wish you what is true, beautiful, and sacred. I wish you moments of connection. Pure and lasting joy. May you know them when you see them. May the world slow around you as you treasure them.
Harm OCD: You Are Not Alone 