When You Hear That Little Voice Inside ...

... don't bully it!

from Jacqueline

I read those words about fifteen years ago, and immediately copied them into a notebook. Really simple stuff, eh? The aphorism was in a little book with other quotes along lines of, “When you bite into a ripe peach, expect the juice to run down your chin." I thought about that first quote again this week, when I stopped to listen to that voice and made a huge decision which I will share with you in my post today.

As you may remember, I went back to school this fall, starting a graduate degree course in Mythology and Depth Psychology that I have wanted to embark upon for a good ten years. Time and lack of money had prevented me from stepping out on this new path, but finally I thought, “The heck with it – just take the leap.” I worked out how I could balance my writing, my studying, the inevitable papers, and the rest of my life. More than anything, I held a belief that this course would be the catalyst in me making some kind of leap in my writing, after all, mythology is at the heart of story, it is story that touches the human condition. I was thrilled to be accepted and was like a dog with two tails in September when I started school. I’ve been immersed in some of the great works of civilization, some of the epic stories, and have taken on Freud and Jung to a greater depth. And I am completely up to date with my work.

Then, starting with a whisper, I began to hear that little voice, and at first I didn’t really want to hear what the voice was saying, because it wasn’t part of the plan. So I pushed it aside, until last week, when the little voice went up a decibel and I heard it loud and clear – mainly because I stopped to listen: Engagement in this work was taking valuable creative and spiritual energy away from my writing, rather than contributing to it. I was pouring all my creativity into the coursework. I may have the physical energy, I may have been able to compartmentalize my day, but something wasn’t working, and as woo-woo as it sounds, I can only describe that something as creative and spiritual energy. So, what did I do?

First, I bawled my eyes out.

But I knew what to come next, because writing is what I love, it is my passion, even on the not-so-good days. It comes first, and has to come first, always. So, this week I withdrew from the course, with a great degree of sadness, yet at the same time, knowing it was the right thing to do.

The events of this week and my emotional response to them reminded me – once again – of a story told to me by a friend some seventeen years ago. I was going through one of those troublesome times in life that we all encounter in one shape or form, what my dear friend Helen calls an AFGO – “another f*****g growth opportunity” – when my friend, John, came around to my house. I was moving at the time, so there was no furniture and we sat on the stairs with a beer each, tucking into sandwiches made with doorstep size slices of crusty white bread and slabs of sharp cheddar cheese, and John told me a story about another friend of his. The friend’s marriage had recently ended, and at the same time, he had been laid off from a high-flying job. He had been put in touch with an executive recruiting and counseling firm, and the person who interviewed him suggested he write an essay outlining the major milestones in his career and how he felt about them – a bit of the corporate touchy-feely stuff. Well, John’s friend went home and sat down to write his essay. Only he became completely immersed in his task and ended up writing through the night, just writing and writing and writing, and didn’t stop writing when the sun came up. And after he wrote the last word, exhausted, and read through his very long essay, he realized that what he had done was write about every single big event in his life, and how he felt about it. And the “ah-ha” for him, was that – right from childhood – any time of grief, of disappointment, or challenge, was the direct result of him ignoring his own best advice, a little voice inside that told of his discomfort.

There are a few people who know that my very serious riding accident in 2001 followed a time of ignoring that voice. I had a day job, and though that day job wasn’t particularly well-paid, it allowed me time to write, and I had just started my first-ever work of fiction – MAISIE DOBBS. But I became worried about not having a 401K, of not having savings, that sort of thing, and moved jobs, into a monumentally demanding role. Great benefits, except the one I most cherished – time to write. The voice kept telling me to give it up, but I ignored it. At the end of one business trip, a friend asked me how the new job was going and I said, “I’d give my right arm not to be doing this job – I don’t have time for my writing.” And the very next day I had an accident which almost cost me my right arm. But I did write that book.

So, as the saying goes, “When you hear that little voice inside, don’t bully it.”

But I rather like the juice on my chin from a big, fat, ripe peach.




Have a lovely weekend!