My full-circle moment with Jeannette Walls

On Writing: Meeting my literary hero, pushing through resistance, and choosing happy

I had the privilege of attending a speaking event by Jeannette Walls, one of my literary heroes, and the experience felt like a full-circle moment in my life.

About a decade ago, I read her first book, The Glass Castle, and saw myself in its pages in a way I never had with any other book. There were so many parallel themes between Jeannette’s story and my own, with love being the central thread. She managed to find the light, the goodness, and the hope in her family and where she came from, regardless of how dark and broken it sometimes was, and I’ve done the same. I remember sleeping with the book under my pillow for about a month after I finished it because I had never felt so understood and was not ready to leave a world where I felt so seen, where someone saw the world as I did. I’ve read it many times and have devoured everything she’s written since then.

It was The Glass Castle that profoundly changed my life. It made me realize that my story mattered and it gave me the courage to write it. Writing my memoir was the first step in a series of magical moments

A year before I finished writing it, I had reached out to an author/editor about potentially working together, thinking she could help me flesh out the structure of my book. She was swamped as she was working on a book of her own, but she gave me a list of editors who she thought could help me. Although I was incredibly grateful, I didn’t even open the list. Between the time I sent her the email and the time she replied, I realized I wasn’t ready for an editor quite yet. I needed to make more headway on my own. Then, I hit a significant roadblock in my book, a big one. I needed an ending. After agonizing over it for months, I needed a break. I wanted to work in the realm of my book, just not actually on the book itself, so I began to scroll through my email for the editor list.

I found it and began highlighting the ones I thought could be a good fit. There were quite a few, and I was starting to get overwhelmed with how I would choose whom to reach out to first. Then I came across Alexis and began reading her testimonials from people who had worked with her and recommended her. I immediately knew she was the kind of editor who could help take my book to where it needed to be. She would preserve my voice and intent but would ensure there were no gaps or dull moments. I could tell she was a person who truly loved words, and adored stories. Then I noticed WHO had written one of the testimonials… Jeannette Walls.

I nearly lost my mind. I had to work with her. My book wasn’t ready. It was a mess of stories that needed a thread to pull it together. It needed an ending. It needed a title. But I wrote to her anyway. It felt like a gift from the Universe, and I didn’t want to squander it just because I felt unprepared and not good enough. I figured she wouldn’t reply, and if she did, then it would be ages from now, and maybe my book would be in better shape. It was worth a shot either way. I wrote the email.

Three hours went by, and there it was… “Dear Jessy, I'd love to hear more about your project…”

We spent two years on the book together, and she guided me through the querying journey. She was truly a grounding force, even though we never managed to get the book published. But that’s not the point. The point is the magic of the process, the connection, the gifts from the Universe, which brings me to now, to another kismet moment.

I was walking in downtown Asheville with my partner, Perry, and my son, Pressley, when my son had a meltdown out of nowhere. Neither Perry nor I had any idea what was wrong because Pressley very rarely has meltdowns, especially not out of nowhere. I had us stop at a bench and sit down so he could rest and work through his feelings, and we could maybe get to the center of what was actually going on—if anything—sometimes toddlers just need a cry session, and I totally get that. The bench happened to be right in front of my favorite bookstore downtown, Malaprops, and when I looked up, I saw Jeannette Walls’ new book in the window right next to a flyer promoting a speaking event at the library that would be happening in a week from that moment.

I held back my joy so my son could have his moment, but once he was himself again, I told Perry, "Ommmmggggg, Jeannette Walls!" The whole moment just felt serendipitous because without my son’s meltdown, I wouldn’t have sat on the bench, and I would’ve never seen the flyer. We weren’t even going to walk that way. I only went that way because I saw the bench. I always call my son my little teacher, and he truly is, always showing me the way. My little guide.

During that week before the event, I read her newest book, Hang the Moon, and I had this crazy thought: what if I printed off my memoir and gave it to her? I wasn’t expecting her to actually read it; I just wanted her to have it, to feel the weight of it in her hands, to know that it exists because of her. I wanted her to physically feel how she changed my life with her bravery, and her courage to tell the truth and share it with the world. But there was a big part of me that felt like this was just absolutely nuts like it was too much, and that I’d be handing her a burden or an obligation.

This is the kind of thing I used to do in my twenties, and it has brought me so many amazing things in my life—my dream job at Atlantic Records, love affairs with men I’d been infatuated with for years, VIP at events I could’ve only ever dreamed being part of, being friends with my biggest inspiration and musical muse, marrying the hottest, kindest, most creative person I’ve ever met, and so much more. As I get older, I have more filters, more barriers, more things that try to quiet my wild, impulsive, loud heart. I kept thinking, "Well, if there ever was a time to listen to what your crazy soul wants, this is it," but I went back and forth for days until I reached out to my community on Instagram with this reel, asking their thoughts. Should I do it?

I was met with so much encouragement, with people saying, Go for it, take the risk, what do you have to lose? Those were my thoughts exactly. But I kept thinking about how I didn’t want to be a burden—I mean, literally handing someone a physical, weight-in-their-hands burden. It felt like too much. I received such beautiful reminders from my community, reminders to listen to my pings and inner knowing, to think like a child and live in the present—don’t overthink it. I immediately thought of my son and his strength, confidence, and joy and felt braver just by channeling him. Reminders from dear friends who have known me for over a decade came through as well. One said that I’ve made everything in my life happen by taking chances, and damn, she’s right. Another reminded me of how much of a champion I was for musicians when I worked at Atlantic and how much I still champion the artists around me, emphasizing how vital it is to also champion my work. Oof. I desperately needed to hear that. I am such a fangirl. I will celebrate the art of others, shouting it from the rooftops until my face goes blue, but when it comes to my work, I’m like, "Nah, no one wants to hear about that." And that’s why community is so important, and I am so grateful for mine. They’re always so gracious and kind and open with their time and support, pushing me to not only see myself but to celebrate my work. And so, I printed the damn book.

At 99,000 words, it was a beast, much heavier than I remembered, which made me go back to thinking about what a heavy burden it could be. But I pushed through my doubt, and my fears, and did it anyway. Perry crafted a handmade leather book bag to hold it so I could give it to her in one neat package. I was just going to get a big-ass manila folder from Wal-Mart, but of course, Perry had to do a very Perry thing and make it all the more special. He’s always going the extra mile for me, to support me and my art and crazy heart.

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I was nervous the whole day leading up to the event, forever trying to talk myself into actually going through with it. Before I left for the evening, my two-year-old son said, “I love you, mama. Have fun. Choose happy.”

Choose happy.

There’s a whole story behind this whole "Choose happy" thing, which I’ll be sharing in a March wrap-up next week, but just know that I needed to hear that. Choose happy. It’s the choices we make that build our lives, and this was no different. Was I going to make a choice steeped in self-doubt and not enoughness, or was I going to make a high self-worth choice from the place of deservingness? I chose the latter.

I sat in the front row for Jeannette’s talk, and while I waited for the event to start, I wrote her a letter on handmade paper that my soulmate, Briana, brought me from India, and slipped it into the leather book bag with the memoir. When Jeannette came to the stage, she quite literally lit up the room. I thought maybe she’d sit down as they had a chair on stage—it looked like the most uncomfortable chair in the world and so small, almost like a child’s—but she didn’t. She stood the whole time in black three-inch heels that made her easily 6’2” and she was absolutely mesmerizing. She talked fast, gestured big, and laughed with her whole body. I couldn’t take my eyes off her for a single second. She reminded me so much of Grandma Linda when she was young. Fiery and full of life and animated, saying things that made you laugh and cry all in the same breath. I felt like I’d known her my whole life.

Her talk was so human, so real, and full of truth and inspiration—everything that both my little-girl-heart and adult-writer-heart needed to hear. I’ll do a whole separate post on her talk, but for now, I want to tell you about what happened after.

I was almost the last one in line to have her sign my book, and it was a pretty long line. I had over thirty minutes to either think about what I wanted to say as I handed her my memoir or to talk myself out of it entirely. I kept visualizing it and thinking about how I could possibly explain in words how much her writing had changed my life. Then, with about five people still in front of me, I was really starting to get nervous, so I figured I’d distract myself by doing some work on my phone. I still had to post on Instagram for my Rhodes Wedding Co. business, so I pulled my phone from my bag. It opened to my Instagram DMs on my personal account, and I noticed I had a message in my requests. I thought maybe it was someone sending me some encouraging words, like so many people had before, and I thought, perfect, just what I need. But when I opened the message, it read:

“Hi. I work with a lot of authors, agents, and editors at conferences, and my advice would be don’t do it. Don’t give your manuscript to Jeannette Walls. You will put yourself and her into an awkward position.”

Oof. Not what I needed to read. And the way it was written felt like such a warning, like I was Jason Bourne and I was being warned about a bomb or something. It just felt really intense, all the periods and reiterations.

The line was getting smaller. Three more people were ahead of me, and I had to now pull myself out of full fear mode on multiple levels. I was like, really? Out of hundreds of people telling me to go for it, the ONE “don’t do it” comes in moments before I’m about to do it? How’s that for some hardcore resistance? I was like, hey, Universe, I see you. It felt like a test. It was asking, are you going to still make that high self-worth choice, or are you going to crumble because ONE person didn’t tell you what you wanted to hear? Like I’ve done many times before, and the Universe should know this about me, I chose to do it anyway. Three things were running through my mind that made me do it.

1. It truly felt like a test from the Universe and there was no way I was going to allow myself to fail this one.

2. If I didn’t do it, I knew I’d go crazy with the "what ifs." What if I’d done it? How would my life be different, or how would it have stayed the same?

3. During her talk, Jeannette said she truly loved stories. She seeks them everywhere and always. And that’s what I was giving her—a story, not a burden. She could choose to read it or not.

I forgot everything that I wanted to say and just told myself to speak from the heart, to allow myself to be myself even if I was nervous, to lean into my emotions, and just tell the truth. And so, I did. I approached her, all watery-eyed and with a shaky voice, and told her that she changed my life. I told her I’d never read anything or met anyone who saw the world like I did, who turned a difficult childhood into a thing of pure love and gratitude, who never sought forgiveness, but acceptance. I handed her my book and said I gained the courage to write this because of The Glass Castle, because you told the truth and was brave enough to share it. I know it’s a lot and kind of weird, and by no means do I expect you to read it. I just wanted you to feel the weight of a changed life in your hands. This exists because of you. I hope you know how powerful your work is. Thank you so much for writing your story because it gave me the strength to write mine.

She clutched her chest and said she was honored. She thanked me for giving her this “gift” and said it brought her to tears. She wiped her eyes with her long slender fingers, got up, walked around the table, and hugged me. I wish I could remember more of what she said, but I was floating. I felt like I was in a dream. She signed my book and then got up to hug me again. She asked if I wanted a photo. Her team snapped a couple with my phone. Then she said, “Take a few more. Make sure they’re good. This is my girl right here.”

You can see the joy on my face. This is the look of someone who chose happy. Who followed her intuition even when she came up against the resistance from herself and others. Who did the scary thing even if it made her voice shake. Who took a chance and was held by their hero. Who fully experienced their full circle moment.

The final nod from the Universe to let this project go and pour myself into my novel. The end of a very long, hard, but so rewarding chapter of my life.

After the event, I sat in my car and recorded a voice memo to myself, describing this whole experience because I didn’t want to forget it. You can listen to the whole thing below. It’s so weird to listen back to my voice, and it all feels so silly, but I’m sharing it anyway because it’s raw and true and it’s fully authentically me.

I listened back to it after finishing this piece and I love hearing the emotion in my voice. And at the very end, I said this to myself: “Remember that you love this. Yes, it’s hard. No, you might not get published. You might not even be that good at it, but that doesn’t matter. You love it. You love writing and talking about books and stories that changed your life.”

And really, that’s what this is all about. Living a life that you love, even if it’s sometimes hard or scary or awkward. This is what it looks like, and I’m just so damn grateful to be here.