Yes, Life Happens.

Stay Hydrated. Claim the Right to Tell Your Story.

I was going to _____ (fill in the blank), but life happened so I didn’t. Or I planned on doing_____, but did_____ instead because life happened. Sound familiar?

I am writing this on a flight headed back home to Detroit after almost a week in Santa Fe, New Mexico, where I participated in A Writing Room Retreat. This was a gift to myself that I embraced even when I wasn’t quite certain I deserved it.

I have never experienced anything quite like this. Yes, we talked about writing and practiced writing and wrote a ton. My right hand is equally exhausted and exhilarated from putting aside my laptop in favor of notebook paper and pens. And this retreat was so much deeper than the words writers scribble and scratch and pour on pages. It was about affirming and exploring the writer’s soul, the worth of our very being and our work.

There was ample time to wander the streets of Santa Fe; to eat the local cuisine; to drink the rich coffee and fruit juices; to admire the artistry; to learn some of the history; to inhale the mysterious beauty of the mountains, and exhale the doubts and fears so many writers hold. I landed in New Mexico with a raging case of imposter syndrome. Am I really a writer? I’m not a real writer. Does my writing matter beyond the very small following I’ve gathered? Is it time to forget about 10 Camels?

Life happened. That’s what I tell myself. That’s the reason 10 Camels hasn’t grown like I dreamed and imagined. That’s the reason I discarded the website, the blog, and several other projects. That’s why I left those emails in my draft box and never hit send. That’s why I deleted those stories and declined invitations to speak.

Yes, over the last year so much life has happened. And while participating in the retreat, I named something else that happened. I gave fear way too much decision-making power. One fear in particular took the reins.

Over the course of the retreat in small groups and large sessions I met and learned from and with so many gifted writers. The “big names” like Alex Elle, Jacob Nordby, Anne Lamott, Julia Cameron, and SARK. And also, from amazing individuals, who like me, signed up for this experience excitedly and perhaps cautiously ready for more. The ones I nervously sat next to in a circle of strangers unsure of the assignment. The ones who bravely introduced themselves and shared samples of their writing with a table of people they just met. The ones who saved me a seat close to the front. The ones who let me join them for breakfast. The ones I invited to lunch. The ones who weren’t mad when I turned down dinner because I could barely keep my eyes open. The ones who stayed up late for our turn at the open mic. The ones who helped me flesh out my writer’s self-contract; cheering loudly, fist bumping, and hugging me after I walked through the portal confidently declaring to a packed-out ballroom that I am a queer, curious, transformational writer.

The stories of the retreat bring me back to my own. I participated in a post retreat intensive facilitated by SARK. The workshop was about “Writing in the Miraculous.” I landed at a table filled with magical writers, colorful markers, stickers, bookmarks, and string. There was laughter, so much laughter. And there were tears, beautiful authentic tears. And new ideas and an invitation to delightfully commit to doing things in new ways. Like the entirety of the retreat, the session was amazingly inspiring. And yet I wondered if I had found my reason for attending.

When I first read about the retreat, I quickly thought, oh, that’d be nice and brushed it off. The second time it came to me, I asked, could I really make this happen? And the third time, I registered after sensing and saying aloud, there’s a reason I’m drawn to be there. Other than the awesomeness of the retreat as a whole, I came believing there was something very specific waiting for me. The exact nature a mystery I was open to receive. As the time wound down, I palpably felt my doubts rising to the surface. Had I received it and just didn’t know it yet? Had I missed it? Did it come while I was getting a second cup of coffee? Maybe I misunderstood? Was it all in my head?

And then SARK shared something in response to a time of questions from the group. She said, I have the right to tell my story. My ears and my heart perked up. My posture changed. So did my breathing. What did she just say? And she said it again, I have the right to tell my story. She elaborated on how she came to believe that and I resonated with her words. And then she said it again, I have the right to tell my story. The third time I grabbed hold of what I came to receive.

I have the right to tell my story.

You have the right to tell your story.

We all have a story and the right to tell our story.

Yes, life happens. And for me a whole lot of life happened in this last year. And the way life happened impacted my writing and the unfolding of 10 Camels. And the truth is that I almost abandoned the camels before they had a chance to thrive for one reason. I covered the camels in sack cloth embroidered with “life happens” because I convinced myself I didn’t have the right to tell my story.

In a magical, mystical, whimsical way SARK created space and made it safe for me to receive what I needed to move forward with my life and my writing. With my hopes and dreams and plans for 10 Camels. 10 Camels is about stories. Writing them. Telling them. Sharing them. It’s about healing. And words and water are the best way—the only way—I know how to heal.

My plane just landed in Detroit. It’s raining here. Like it rained my first night in Santa Fe. After dropping my bags off at the hotel, I walked up the street toward the town square, meandering my way to St. Francis Cathedral. To a labyrinth. After a few deep breaths I started the circling path. With each intentionally slow and gentle step imagining 10 Camels walking beside me. Listening carefully for any clues or messages they might reveal. As I approached the center, I heard in my spirit, we need water too.

And then I felt a raindrop on my shoulder. And then on my face. Another on my neck. Looking up I thought, it can’t be raining. There’s not a cloud in the sky. And then for just a few minutes it poured. Just long enough for the camels—all 10 of them—to get the water we had been longing for while life was happening. Yes, life happens. So do miracles. Keep your dreams, your heart, your story hydrated.

Water-fully Yours, Rebecca
10 Camels