I had two books come out this week. To say it’s been a wild ride should win some sort of award as understatement of the millennium.
A couple of my early reviewers mentioned that it was like a roller coaster ride. I liked it, considering that was exactly the effect I was trying to achieve. Lots of high emotional stakes and surprise loop-d-loops makes for fun, exciting reading. (Or so I hope.)
In real life, however, that’s an express ticket to crazy-town. And although emotional dominion happens to be one of the topics that features most prominently in my work, I am not immune to being flung about as if on the scariest ride at Six Flags.
A glimpse into Launch Day Morning:
I wake up excited. This day, nearly a year in the making is finally here.
Even before my eyes have completely focused, I’ve opened my browser to the already-open Amazon page and click refresh. That dull grey button that says ‘Available for Preorder’ has turned golden orange and now says ‘Buy Now’. I am elated. Yay!
My eye slides over to the middle of the page and I notice that the paperback version of the book, which had been available, is now gone. Many clicks later, and I force myself to understand that it has vanished from Amazon. Panic!
I head over to my email and skim over the couple dozen that had come in overnight to see if I received something from Amazon or the distribution company to explain the absence of my book. Anxiety!
There it is. For the fifth time, they’ve rejected the book cover design. This time, it’s because of a 0.0625 inch discrepancy. That’s 1/16th of an inch. I contemplate whether to go back to my designer (who’s basically had it with me by now) or try to fix it myself. Confusion! Frustration!
My eye catches on another email, which I open. The other distribution company (which handles everything that’s NOT Amazon, and yes, that does exist) has finally, after a week of back-and-forth, approved my book. Yay!
I read further into the email and click on the digital proof they provide. It’s gorgeous. The cover and the interior are perfection. They got it right. I flip to the very last page of the proof, the back cover, and notice something odd. I zoom in. I zoom out. I increase the brightness of my screen. The shadow across half of my bio remains. Instead of happily clicking, “I Accept”, I am forced to reject the proof and ask for review so we can figure out what’s causing the problem (which does not appear on the files I originally submitted). It may take up to a week. Frustration! Dejection!
The cycles of soaring and crashing happen about a gazillion more times over the course of that day. (Don’t get me started on the reviews. Which are mostly great. Thankfully.)
All the equanimity, self-awareness, and objectivity I’d spent a lifetime cultivating had taken a rather unceremonious leap right out the window. What was left was the Pascale who flung herself up, down, over, and under every passing event. I fell into bed devastated from my day.
By the next morning, the ground had stopped shaking. Although none of the issues from the previous day had resolved, enough perspective had returned to help me understand.
You see, this type of turmoil, the continuously getting back on the rollercoaster, is what good stories capture, whether they’re on the page, stage, or screen. We like that feeling, even when it could be labeled unpleasant (sad, scary, disgusting). It gives us a sense of being alive. The cool kids call it the feels. [And there went the last remaining vestiges of my hip-ness.]
Not a darn thing wrong with any of that.
But something happens when the excitement of those dramatic ups-n-downs becomes our new baseline. It’s the same effect of eating overly salted food over a period of time. Eventually, our palates become desensitized to the deliciousness of fresh food.
For me personally, I had to realize that I had spent a day hanging on to the metal bar of my roller coaster car, white knuckles and all, refusing to get off, no matter what. I had to choose to release my grip, step out, and make my way back to solid ground. The dizziness and nausea were part of the recovery process.
Although I was still in the thick of things, I had to actively bring myself to the lake. It’s peaceful, beautiful, and fills me with energy instead of depleting me. This lake, which we all have within us, is the antithesis of wild rides and extremes.
It’s the steady rise and fall of your breath.
It’s the ability to see straight to the bottom of the cool, clear water.
It’s the foundation that supports your efforts.
It’s peace, clarity, and sovereignty.
We may not all be writing books. But I bet you’ve had a few turns on some daredevil rides. It’s hard to escape.
When you feel that urge to go for another round, see if you can bring yourself to the lake. I’ll be there, waiting for you. I’ll even lend you my paddleboard.
