I think this has been the most emotionally (and physically) exhausting, challenging, exhilarating, thrilling, exciting, depleting two plus weeks of my life. Today, I am numb. Well, almost numb. Sponge Bob's voice feels like someone pouring rubbing alcohol on badly skinned knees—painful with an after-sting that won't go away. And now I'm thinking, post childbirth was, I'm sure, far more exhausting than this. That was a level of exhaustion that can't be replicated. Or even remembered clearly. Having said THAT, I'm older now, and less resilient than I was at 34.
Where is this post going? Folks, I have no idea.
On top of the FLOW insanity I've been living, last night we hosted 12 for Thanksgiving. Until yesterday morning I had barely started cooking, or even realistically made a list of what I needed to get. By the time people showed, I had been to the supermarket and farmer's market more times than I can count—several times going specifically to buy something and coming home without it. Never managed to get pineapples and strawberries.
(surprising wind shift)
While missing much needed fruit at the end of dinner is certainly something to ponder, I need to go on an unexpected tangent for a moment, because, of course, I'm online and checking constantly while I write this and just got an email that made me stop and think. Actually, stop and cringe in horror. It followed a tweet that said, with a slightly biting edge, that my many FLOW posts were overwhelming everything else on someone's home page. And then an emailed arrived asking that I no longer include this person on any FLOW mailings, that's they're receiving far too many and would prefer, well, none.
Whew. I am mortified on one level. Ashamed. Uncomfortable. Squeamish that my pulling out the stops to support my book has become such a turn off to people. Having said that (with a nod to Larry David), this book represents 3 years of my life. I fought SO HARD to get it out into the world. The information within should be mandatory. How women's history, women's rights are boiled down to a paragraph or two about suffragettes in school is shameful. Even more shameful is how we all swallow the pill of not talking, not challenging, not fighting the stigmas that we've been conditioned to believe are true.
This is such a fine line to walk. Shameless self promotion that many are reading is all about me. About book sales. About some sort of fame that's not fleeting too fast. And yes, honestly, that's part of the equation. But far more, I believe so wholeheartedly in this book in an environment, a construct, a society that's so hard to get people to pay attention in.
I'm figuring this out as I go along. I wish I had a mentor, a guru, a psychic who would keep me sailing straight. Who could see the future and know all this energy and effort was well-directed. Who'd be able to let me know I'd come out the other side with my ego intact, my friends not hating me, FLOW educating and empowering people. And a new book deal.
One can dream.