Carrie Link

OUT OF NOWHERE NOW HERE

Once upon a time there was a woman and she had a shitty childhood. Horrible and torturous, this woman detailed it all in a book and called it her memoir. The book found its way to another woman. This woman connected so deeply with the author that she knew the two would one day know each other. She felt it was only a matter of time, and she patiently waited. Little signs along the way provided her with hope that she was indeed, on her way to knowing someone her soul already knew.
She first learned that she and the author lived in the same city, on the same side of the river.
Handy.
Time went by and the woman poured herself into the lives of her children and the school community around them. The woman found herself working side-by-side on an auction with the author’s husband.
Serendipitous.
Three years later the woman found herself again doing an auction with the husband, but this time he was the ex.
The woman, having always fancied herself a bit of a writer as well, screwed up the courage and coughed up the money to take a class from the author, in the author’s home. The woman didn’t know which she was more excited about, meeting the author, or seeing her house.
Toss up.
The woman entered the author’s home and at first glance knew she was in good hands. Candles, spiritual symbols, icons and signs of practice were everywhere, not in a creepy way, in a warm, loving, peaceful way.
Immediately the woman was asked to write. There would be no warm fuzzy get-to-know-you activity. They would write.
Period.
As the group began to share what they had just written, the woman knew this would be a gathering like no other. Stories emerged that touched the woman, tickled the woman and disturbed the woman.
The weekend progressed, and by the end the woman felt she knew these former strangers better than she knew many of the people she saw everyday. Masks were off. Secrets were shared, souls revealed. They had seen into each other’s closets and psyches, each other’s pain and wounds, each other’s joys and passions.
Some of the writers stayed in touch. While not seeing each other again, they offered support and motivation to persevere, long after the glow of the workshop had worn off. They grew to know each other deeper, darker, lighter and softer.
The woman and the author stayed in touch. An event was planned by the woman, featuring the author. Details of the event planning led into discussions of life. Discussions of life led to deeper understanding and connection between the woman and the author. Mutual admiration and a love for profanity took them to the next level of their relationship.

In just a few months’ time the two women’s lives became enmeshed. Their children, their writing, their relationships all got into the vase and a lovely bouquet was manifested.
Before the woman knew what had hit her, she was leaving on a jet plane with the author on her left and a John Denver song in her heart. The two traveled all across the country. Their agenda included a talk to psychologists, a panel discussion with three fellow memoirists, meetings with agents and a three-day writing workshop.
This three-day workshop on the other side of the country would bring many different worlds into collision for the woman. Colliding worlds was something this woman had carefully avoided in her life. Colliding worlds put this woman into a state of anxiety, formerly, but the events from the past six months had changed all that in the woman. She finally understood that people are supposed to meet when they are supposed to meet, and the most choreographed dance that the woman had constructed in her head, would not stand up against the one that the Universe had in mind. After 43 years of being in control, the woman was happy to know she wasn’t. She was more than happy.
She was relieved.

She was
She was grateful.