What was originally called The Discomfortable Person’s Guide to Self-Acceptance is now out of my hands. It has transformed into Journey to the Ecstatic Self—and is at the mercy of an editor, designer, and typesetter. It is getting dressed for its debutant ball—all gussied and bedazzled and tiara-ed. Soon it will be an entity unto itself—my job in creating it is complete.
Sure, I still have to shepherd it into the world—but I am now but its escort, no longer its maker. And it’s time to let it go.
Surrendering a piece of art into the world is always a strange and harrowing experience. With it goes a piece of ourselves. We, the creators of art, invest our life force, consciousness, and will into the making of a piece. But then, it leaves us—like a child off to university. Where it will have experiences, make new friends, binge drink at frat parties—create new tales of which we will know not. Have we taught it well enough? Have we reminded it to only drink from beer bottles because it’s less likely someone will roofie such a small opening?
I hope the world will be kind to JTTES—I hope they will make it feel loved. But, like an empty-nesting parent, I am a little sad. For the past many months, my focus has been honed in on the cultivation of this manuscript. Now, life-force given, I am empty. I will have to turn my abilities to something new. In time, I shall create again. But in this moment—I simply must sit and just marvel. Something has been given new life at my fingertips. I, like the Heavenly Mother, has spawned something into creation. What a marvelous act!
I will likely not have children this lifetime—so this is my sole means of creating progeny. It is the only way I will know how to create new life.
It is awe inspiring, harrowing, and daunting. I hope I have created well.