If you are even remotely involved in my life you know by now Elephant Journal printed an article I wrote about the Yoga Book Club on Twitter.
In case you are the one person who has been hiding in a cave I haven't found yet to tell, you can read it here: My first Elephant Journal article! See that's really my name and picture!
A couple weeks ago Bob Weisenberg, Elephant Journal Yoga editor, emailed me and asked if I'd be interested in writing a story about the book club. At first I shouted YES. Then I sat down and wrote a proper, calm, cool and collected email response saying of course I would write something as time allowed.
Then I did nothing for 4 days, paralyzed by fear. Who am I to think I can write for Elephant Journal? Never mind I have a college degree in print communications, never mind I began my career days as a newspaper reporter and freelance magazine writer. That was years ago.
But in the back of my mind I kept thinking about my mom. In one of our quiet moments together before she died, she told me how proud she was of me, how much she loved me and to get off my ass and start writing again.
Yep, that's my mom.
So finally I sat and I wrote and I emailed it off. And Mr Weisenberg - the Bob Weisenberg - said he loved it. He liked me, he really liked me! Well OK, he liked my writing but I think if he spent enough time with me he'd like me too.
Does this mean I've passed the Elephant Journal litmus test for coolness? Does it mean I'm a hipster yogi? I'm letting myself believe it does. (No worries about my head getting too big. I have six kids who right now are complaining about the gross dinner I made that will keep me very grounded.)
But mom's not here anymore for me to share this with her. And when I picked up the phone to tell my mom that the Bob Weisenberg from the Elephant Journal liked my writing, it hit me that mom really is gone now. Damn. She would be so proud of me.
So I cried because it feels so good to be writing again. It's been a piece of me that's been missing for too long now. And I cried because Bob Weisenberg validated that missing piece. And I cried because cancer stole my mom from me. And now another piece of me is missing that no one can ever replace.
So I shall keep writing. But first this cool, hipster yogi needs to go squash a dinner boycott. Mom would be so proud of that too.