Rachel Del: May 2017

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3 Things from the past week

1. I spent some time (a little too much time) scrolling through the Instagram account of an author I admire. I went all the way back to the beginning. At first I was dismayed. I thought: my feed will never look like this. I’ll never be able to write as quickly as her and share so many new book release posts. There will never be photos of me posing with fans at book signings. I can’t even remember how long it’s been since I was able to say “I just wrote ‘the end’.”

I was feeling sorry for myself. Oh god, that’s embarrassing to say, but it’s true.

But I kept scrolling. And slowly, I snapped out of it. I stopped feeling sorry for myself and started to feel inspired, motivated, determined.

I opened up my novel and wrote for the first time this week.

And you know what? I know that one day my Instagram feed will be pull of those pictures; because this is what I’m meant to do. Write.

It will happen; just you wait and see.

2. I’ve been thinking about summer a lot. I’ve written a whole blog post about it that I hope to share soon. It’s around this time each year that the temperatures ramp up and my heart goes along with it. Summer is when my heart is most full. Drinking my morning cup of coffee with the back door open, eating outside every night, lounging by the pool, cool weekend mornings at the park with my son—I am myself in the summer. I know how to shut off my brain at the end of the work day. I know how to enjoy my weekends.

I know how to just be.

3. Late Saturday night I caught a bug, or something, that had me incapacitated for most of the night. When I woke this morning, my body was aching like never before. I could barely roll over without my stomach twisting and turning. It's been a while since I've had anything like this, whatever it's called. But if I really think about it it happens when I'm at my worst. When I'm stressed out and not myself and not eating well or exercising enough.

It's my wake up call.

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, by Unknown

3 things

3 things from the past week

1. I finished reading a book this week that blew me away in the best kind of possible way. Write Naked: A Bestseller's Secrets to Writing Romance & Navigating the Path to Success—(phew! That was a mouthful)—was just what I needed to read. Ever since I decided to re-write Finding Lily, I’ve been struggling with how to truly give it life. It was the first book I ever self-published and it’s horribly lacking in so many ways (hence my decision to re-write it).

And then Write Naked and Jennifer Probst came along. Through her words, through her guidance, she made it easy to pinpoint exactly what was wrong with my book. In the days since I finished reading her book I have gone through my original manuscript and finally—finally!—come up with a plan of action as how to re-write it… and re-write it well. Like it should have been in the first place.

There’s a lesson here: don’t rush!

And also: thank you, Jennifer Probst.

2. A few days before mother’s day I was clearing out a bag of things that my mother-in-law had sent home with us and I came across an envelope addressed to me. I didn’t think much of it and absentmindedly tore it open. Of course, then I realized: it was for mother’s day.

I don’t quite know what I expected. My mother-in-law has this way with cards; they always perfectly encapsulate the receiver. So, I knew it would be sweet.

I opened the card, read it, and burst into tears.

It said: “For you, daughter-in-law…Our family just wouldn’t be complete without you.”

I cried because I felt loved. I cried because I felt appreciated. But I also cried because had I not just been feeling overwhelmed by his family? By the sheer size? By how involved everyone is in each other’s lives and the way that can make me feel sometimes?

I cried because, for a moment, I didn’t feel worthy of their love.

3. I got to attend a last-minute wedding this week. Some family of my husbands’ were coming into town and decided they should finally get married. Everything came together pretty quickly. After the short ceremony at The Flamingo’s garden chapel, my husband, his sister and I were standing around talking, watching the photographer take photos of the happy couple and his sister said (about the bride), “She looks like a real woman.”

I knew exactly what she meant. I agreed wholeheartedly.

Days later, while driving to somewhere or home from somewhere, I brought it up again with Dom. “I don’t know what makes me look at her and think she’s a real woman. She’s in her thirties, she’s a mother, she has a real job, she’s married. I am all these things, but I don’t look at myself and think ‘now there’s a real woman’.”

Dom said, “one of my favorite ages, besides when I was around twenty-seven, was when I was your age (thirty-two).” And then he smiled reassuringly as he gave my knee a squeeze.

“As hard as it has been to admit that I’m in my thirties now, there is something to be said about how I feel now versus five years ago. I have my shit together more than I ever have before, so there’s that.”

Dom smiled again and said something I’ll have to remind myself of time and time again. “I think you’re a real woman. But it’s always hard for us to step outside of ourselves and be able to look at ourselves objectively like that.”

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, by Unknown

3 things

3 things from the past week

1. I’m a strange person; this is no secret. I was that kid in school who spent more of her time bent over a notebook journaling or writing short stories. I was painfully shy, wildly unpopular and the recipient of a whole lot of bullying. When I started College I thought the best thing to do would be to hide those parts of me that people thought were strange. I wrote at home or on the bus to and from school. I didn’t tell people I wanted to be a writer. I never told anyone I played the flute—not just played it; I performed, I competed, I took theory lessons alongside my weekly lessons. I sketched here and there, but rarely showed anyone my work.

And then I grew up and I learned that no one is universally liked. I cannot please everyone. And by hiding my true self I am doing a terribly disservice to myself.

I’m happy to say that I’m more strange than ever. And I no longer hide it. Plus, I found in a partner an equally strange man who constantly makes me laugh. I read somewhere that one of the key factors of a successful marriage is that the couple be able to make each other laugh. So, we’ve got that down pat.

2. There’s an indie bookstore downtown that holds the most interesting events. On Thursday I convinced Dela to join me. It's been a while since I've felt that inspired, so thank you, Laura McBride. And to make the night even more golden, I finally got to visit PublicUs. It's officially my favorite coffee place.

3. I’m pretty confident in saying that besides ensuring our basic needs are met (shelter, food, love, health, etc) that everyone just wants to feel understood. To be surrounded by people who get you. Really get you.

When I left Canada I was convinced that no one in Las Vegas would understand me. How could they when they didn’t know my past? And maybe, for the most part, this remains true—though not for the reasons I once expected. No one here has known me for longer than seven years. The majority of them don’t know that I grew up singing and performing Hakuna Matata with my three cousins at our cottage every summer. They don’t know that once, while my best friend and I were babysitting her younger brother, we locked him in his bedroom and he put his bunk bed ladder through the back of his door. They might not know the details of why I have a complicated relationship with my mother, or why I’m a total daddy’s girl—but, they get me.

It turns out they don’t need to have known me for my whole life to understand me.

They know that if I’m not writing; I’m grumpy as hell. That I’m fiercely loyal. That I’m terribly hard on myself. They know I drink too much coffee and that I can’t stop listening to John Mayer and Ed Sheeran. They know I read voraciously. They know I’m absolutely useless after 8pm and that I get the most work done between 7 and 11 am.

They know me. I am understood.