You Are An Essayist
Hope, Starting Over, and the Gift of A New Day
The French verb essayer translated into English is “to try; attempt.”
Anyone who seizes a moment, a minute, an opportunity to get back up and try again, starts anew or starts something new, hopes for better, gives it another shot… is an essayist. Every time we try anything in life, we are extending our story, we are writing something in to our lives, no matter the outcome. There is not one amongst us who is not an essayist for this reason.
This thought - that we are all essayists if we have hope and continue to try - came to me during my first run recently in many weeks. It was my favorite kind of thought, one spurred on by running (see my post here on running thoughts). It was encouraged no doubt by 5-Day Essay Camp posts from Summer Brennan of A Writer's Notebook and Day 1 (specifically, but honestly all of the days) of the November Write Along with TaraShea Nesbit of TODAY YOU WILL WRITE .
It had been weeks since I last laced up and moved my body faster than a walk (sinus tarsi syndrome; if you know, you know). Outside of the chronic ankle pain, it was the usual work and family obligations that became the excuse; they were crowding my calendar and my energy was sapped.
But, this one day, I just did it, Nike style. My shoes were on and I was out the door. Again. I did it, again. How many times have I tried something, been stymied or thwarted either by internal or external roadblocks, dropped it, and then picked it back up? Seemingly a million times. And, I know I am not alone.
While I ran, all sorts of examples of how I have tried, stopped, and tried again came to mind. I realized that in fact I have been an essayist for decades. Here are just a few of my “essays” from my life. I hope you’ll share some of yours in the comments.
Thrown From A Horse. At 11, I took horse riding lessons. A dream come true for this Breyer’s horses girl. It’s a risky thing to ride a horse. Inevitably (although I never imagined it happening to me), I was thrown from a horse, tossed flat on my back onto the ground; luckily not trampled. I got back up and tried again (not that day but the next lesson), eventually moving on to jumping and dressage, winning ribbons. While I don’t ride anymore, I wear a Ford Mustang baseball cap (see my profile); my homage to the wild horse within and a reminder that I will one day buy my favorite muscle car and drive it well into my 60’s and beyond!
Divorce. At 13, my parents divorced. My mom moved out and took my sister and I with her. We left my childhood home. While I did see my father every other weekend, it was never the same again. My grades dropped. I got a D in French (how apropos of this essay) and I failed Algebra. I tried again ultimately taking French throughout high school and into college (I even took Calculus, and got an A).
Injury. At 19, playing college field hockey, my kneecap was fractured from an errant ball. I was in a splint for three months. The physical therapy was painful. I worked back up to running again and ran my fastest mile (sub 6 minutes) a year later.
Unhealthy Habits. At 20, I went to Russia for a 5-month study abroad program where I lived with a Russian family and taught English to college students for room and board. I got hooked on beer (Baltika No 9!) and Marlboro reds. I wasn't exercising. I came back 15 lbs heavier, my lung conditioning completely lost. Getting back in shape for my last year of college field hockey felt impossible. But I did it. I went on to be an All-American.
Pregnancy. At 33, 36, and 40, I was pregnant, gained weight, had children and struggled with depression, eating and weight gain. Over and over and over again. Each time I tried to get back to movement it was painful and frustrating. Although it often took many tries, I always found a groove... at least for a little while.
Divorce, Again. At 40, my marriage of 13 years faltered. I tried again for another 4, but it ultimately fell apart. I chose to leave to keep my emotional life intact but ended up breaking the hearts of my three boys and found myself in financial straits. A child of divorce, leaving that marriage was one of the most difficult things I have ever done. At 44, I found love again and married at 47. I am also debt free, other than carrying a wicked large mortgage.
Every time, although it may take days, weeks, months or years, I have managed to find the hope and resolve to get back up and try again.
Over the last few years, I started drawing and painting. More recently, I've been trying to write. Scratch that. I AM writing! In April, I started this Substack to explore both forms of expression. The frustration of not being able to put what I envision on paper has pushed me to the brink of quitting. And, I have quit. And, then I try again. Deep down I am an essayist.
NaNoWriMo - A Chance to Start Again
November 1st offered a unique opportunity to try again. At age 9, I started but didn't finish a Nancy Drew style story written together with my childhood friend and illustrated by my Grandfather.
This week, I surprised myself by jumping into NaNoWriMo. I started writing a novel and as of yesterday am at 19,000 words. It took me over 40 years, but I started again. Appreciation and thanks are due to Fictionistas , Stop Writing Alone , TODAY YOU WILL WRITE , #AcWriMoments, Tim Lott's Writing Boot Camp and so many more fine Substacks here.
Today, I went for a run. Today, I played piano. Today, I sat down to type this. I tried. I got back in the saddle. Hope is what I have. A chance to take another bite at the apple of life.
We are all essayists. What have you tried, but then quit and then tried to do again? Every day is a new day to give up or to give it another go. We get to choose. I know I will give up again, but I also know I have it within me to try again. What are you hoping to get back to? What will it take?
I hope you’ll share some of your little essays here in the comments, little nuggets of inspiration about the times you tried, stopped, and started again. Thank you for reading!
For your entertainment, here is an example of terrible sports photography. I played soccer in high school. I was not that great. But I kept trying. Why they chose to put a picture of me “stopping the ball with my back” on the cover of the Sports section of the local journal, is beyond me. But, hey, we apparently won.
High-fived the idea that we are all essayists. What a lovely departure from the school essay that says nothing and serves no one. Go write! You are unstoppable.
Thank you for the gentle reminder to try again