I am involved in a number of writing exercises which have been posted - some free, some for a fee - on various blogs of tremendously talented people. Some are flip and easy, others are a bit deeper.
I have spent the last week, or so, mulling the assignment posed by Susannah over at her Unravelling: e-course during the first week. I was hesitant about putting pen to paper (or fingers to keypad, as it were.) The idea is to determine the ten stepping stones of our life, our defining moments. The most important turning points. That is a HUGE exercise. Especially given that I am that much older than the other participants. I'm thinking I should get at least five more just to keep it equal!
For me, I found this assignment particularly daunting as I tend to look forward; you know: learn from the past then onward. If you can't change it or control it, do your best to understand it and move on. This exercise has forced me to mine some memories that are certainly there, but not something I necessarily want to bring front and centre. Why are so many of our defining moments negative?
Last night I decided to take it on. But more than that. I decided to, ala Portfolio Project, throw up every single meaningful experience, the ones that still resonate, onto paper, okay Word document, and from that huge list I will determine my ten biggest moments.
Wow.
The two little ones were upstairs all nestled in their beds, Claire was on her own computer completing her homework, or on MSN, she likes to multitask. Cole was at hockey practice. I thought it was safe to start this little project. How wrong I was.
I managed to make it to point number 31 - which takes me to age 12, yes, lots of pruning to do - and I was a blubbering mass of goo. It was at this point Cole returned from hockey practice. I did my best palms of hands into eyes, shake it off attempt at looking somewhat mama-like and composed. I think I scared my dear son half to death. The look on his face was that of concern and terror. My kids do not often see me cry and I feel terrible for scaring him.
While he gave me a big hug, I managed to regain some composure and he asked me what I was doing.
I told him, vaguely, "I'm writing". Sniff.
His question: "So is writing always like peeling onions? Does it always make you cry?"
I lied and told him "of course not". I was just having a moment.
The reality is that if you write authentically, from your heart, there will be tears. Tears of joy, frustration, anger and sadness.
There will be tears.
So, now all of my lovelies are off to school. No one is here to catch me peeling onions.