The power of having something to look forward to

On Living: Living in the space between hope and let down—and learning how to show up anyway

This time last year, I was waiting for a response from my dream agent about my memoir. After so many rejections, I thought the book was dead and gone. But out of nowhere, she emailed me, asking to see the full manuscript. Suddenly, I let myself believe that maybe this time something would change. Maybe this time it could really happen.

I’d had so many almosts—moments where I thought, this is it, I’m finally going to get an agent. But nothing ever panned out. Just a lot of hopes raised, only to crash down again.

That pattern of hope and disappointment is one I know all too well. Growing up, Mom was in and out of prison. She’d go in, get clean, and promise everything would be different. But when she got out, nothing changed. She’d go back to using and stealing and disappearing, then back to jail. Still, every time she promised she’d stay clean, and that we’d build a real life together, I believed her. And every single time, I was crushed.

Trying to get an agent isn’t as heartbreaking as losing Mom over and over again, but the disappointment still bottoms me out.

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I’d almost forgotten how hopeful I felt this time last year—how good it felt to believe in something again, especially in something I’d poured so much of myself into. But the agent didn’t take the book. “It’s a hard time for memoir,” she said, echoing what so many others have told me. I was let down, but by then I’d gotten good at bouncing back. I threw myself into writing a novel, which I abandoned by May because life became too uncertain. Every ounce of my creative energy, every waking moment not spent with my son, had to go toward keeping my family afloat financially.

It was a long and hard summer, with no reprieve in fall when a hurricane hit our little mountain town and flooded our workshop. And yet, on the morning of the hurricane, pages of a new novel idea poured out of me before 8 a.m. I had no idea what to do with the story, though, as there still didn’t seem to be room in my life to work on writing, especially writing that didn’t bring in money. Plus I felt shame around starting and stopping so much with the last two (or was it three?) novels. Did I really want to add another unfinished project to the pile?

My whole life I’ve been someone who gets shit done, who finishes what she starts, who reaches every goddamn goal she sets for herself. But since becoming a mother, that’s changed. Things get started only to be abandoned. I can’t stick to a workout routine to save my life. Writing often gets the worst of me because my son gets the best, and whatever’s left goes to work.

And now, as the year nears its end, I still find myself without an agent or anything promising on the horizon. There’s no glimmer of hope waiting in the wings, and honestly, the absence of hope feels more disheartening than disappointment itself. Still, I know the only way I can get back into the familiar territory of hope is if I have something I want to put out in the world.

So this month, I’ve put the writing first. Three times a week, on mornings when my husband takes care of our son, I set a timer for two hours to write and don’t leave my chair unless it’s to pee. I’ve started piecing together scenes from that September idea. On mornings I have my son I try to write later in the afternoon, or sometimes I use the time in my weekly writing circle with The Practice to get words on the page.

The point is, I’m showing up for the writing—for myself—every single day. Even if this story ends up abandoned like the others, at least I’ll know I showed up for the thing I love to do, and I’ll be back in the realm of hope.

I think we all need something to look forward to, something to hope for. For me, that craving is deeply ingrained. As a kid, I was forever looking forward to Mom getting out of prison or hoping she’d come home from only God knows where. As an adult, I’ve found similar anticipation in traveling—having a trip on the horizon. This could also be why I had a hard time settling down and committing to my now husband. Where’s the thrill in monogamy? I wondered, Will there still be things to look forward to? The answer is yes, but sometimes you have to work a little harder for them and be more intentional with your anticipation. But I could say that about everything in my life—it’s the anticipation of the thing, whatever the thing is, and the hope that it’s coming.

As this year draws to a close, what’s one thing you’re looking forward to, or holding onto hope for? Or maybe it’s a series of things—because, in my experience, it’s never just one thing.