The Year of Exploration

Chicken Soup for the Soul: Reboot Your Life

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole Ross) — Mon, 25 Aug 2014 01:06:00 +0000

Twenty-three days from now, you'll be able to walk into Barnes & Noble and buy a book with my name in it. Luckily, you don't have to wait that long -- Chicken Soup for the Soul: Reboot Your Life is already available for pre-order on Amazon.com!

It's hard to believe four years have passed since I embarked upon The Year of Exploration. It's been two since I last posted on this blog. Time flies. And that's ok. Actually, it's really ok.

Because I've been blogging less and living more.

Since we last *spoke,* I've adopted a the world's cutest dog, drafted two novels (no, you can't read them yet), rekindled my childhood love of horseback riding, began dabbling in martial arts again (alongside cops, no less), finished grad school, published various short stories and articles, taken on new roles at work, gone on several solo vacations, taken up photography, and started my own small business (more on that later). Plus, there's some excitement brewing for 2015...and no, I'm not pregnant. Thank heavens.

I have been living, and it's all because of TYOE. Well, maybe not all. But mostly. So thanks to every one of you who encouraged me all those years ago -- and still do to this day.

That's why I couldn't wait to share that my short story "The Year of Exploration" will be published September 16, 2014. One day, maybe I'll dust off the 'ol memoir, too. For now, though, I'm excited to get the word out one spoonful at a time.

XO,

Nicole

The Bishop's Wife

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole Ross) — Thu, 16 Feb 2012 18:16:00 +0000

The Bishop's Wife is a 1947 classic with Loretta Young and my all-time favorite actor Cary Grant. Cary plays "Dudley," an unlikely angel sent to help Loretta and her husband (David Niven) get their marriage and priorities back on track.

He wasn't at all what they expected. He wasn't your typical angel.

And neither was the Ethiopian cabbie sent to take me to the airport yesterday afternoon.

My cab driver, whose name I unfortunately have no hope of remembering or pronouncing, even if I did remember it, got lost on the way to my apartment. Three times. Each time, he'd call my cell, and we'd exchange stilted directions. I'd hang up and cross my fingers, yet again.

You see, I really didn't want anything to go wrong. I was finally packed for my three-week trek to the west coast. I was already nervous. I was on my way to pitch my book to literary agents. And Lance had been nipping at my heels for weeks.
When my driver finally pulled up, I settled into the back seat of his yellow cab with a shamrock painted on the door and prayed for a quiet ride.

But my cabbie -- we'll call him Amare -- was feeling chatty. I relunctantly engaged, confessing I was on my way to San Francisco for a writers conference. Amare got excited. Yes, like books, novels. He got more excited.

For the next twenty minutes, Amare proceeded to lecture me in broken English on the nobility of writing, how books expand your mind, how the greatest minds of our history were still teaching through their written works to this day. Even though I was missing every tenth word, or so, Amare's enthusiasm was contagious.

"This good you go away. Artist must live new experience, see things new way.

"Agreed. Being somewhere else causes you to think differently. A few months ago I went to Costa Rica for the first time. It was incredible."

"Costa Rica? No. You won't learn about art there. You must go Europe, Africa. That is art, inspiring."

"Oh, okay."

I debated telling him about my trip through Eastern Europe last year where I fell deathly ill and saw more of my hotel room than the ancient city of Budapest, but Amare had already pivoted. He began to lecture me about patience.

"This important, most important." I listened intently. "You must not count the time, the days. You won't learn if you keep counting the time, rushing." I nodded. "To start is to finish, so you start. Just go. Don't hurry."

I began to wonder if Amare had been reading my blog.

"So write one book, then two. Then four hundred. To start is to finish." I quickly tried to calcuate how many years it'd take me to write four hundred books.

"You're very wise." He gave me a toothy grin in the rear-view mirror. "That's good advice."

Pulling up outside the airport, he stacked my luggage on the curb and gave me an encouraging smile. "You're good." My Ethiopian cabbie seemed to have far more confidence in me than I did. "You're good, I tell. You're already on top. Just go." I actually considered hugging him.

"Thank you," I said sincerely. "It was very nice to meet you." He nodded and smiled, watching me disappear into the terminal.

I checked my bag, went through security, and found my gate. As I sat down, I realized I was smiling -- still thinking about Amare's kind words. He wasn't your typical angel, perhaps, but he turned out to be just what I needed.

So, I'm here in the heart of San Francisco. I'm embarking on another adventure. To start is to finish, and I'm starting. Amare thinks I can do this, and I'm starting to think so, too.

PS - Mom texted me this morning with some good news. "Lance's flight was cancelled. He's snowed in until April." Looks like I'm on my own, after all.

*Image: http://www.google.com/imgres?hl=en&biw=1280&bih=594&gbv=2&tbm=isch&tbnid=MrNsIq12cpWAcM:&imgrefurl=http://curiousmel.blogspot.com/2009/11/bishops-wife-1947.html&docid=GrSgj12J_lcY5M&imgurl=http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5p3lUJPGJZQ/SxNHoZRSrAI/AAAAAAAADWw/Ij8wQw8BDGg/s1600/Annex%252B-%252BGrant,%252BCary%252B(Bishop%2527s%252BWife,%252BThe)_NRFPT_01.jpg&w=1600&h=1200&ei=1j09T-66Ge_XiQKEsLmbAQ&zoom=1&iact=hc&vpx=783&vpy=175&dur=1857&hovh=194&hovw=259&tx=188&ty=106&sig=108619874950748085514&page=1&tbnh=117&tbnw=158&start=0&ndsp=23&ved=0CF0QrQMwBQ

Go West, young man

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole Ross) — Tue, 14 Feb 2012 02:53:00 +0000

That's me on the mule, heading West.* Metaphorically anyway. Like countless times before, I'm about to embark on an adventure. I'm heading to California to pitch one book, then onto Washington to edit my second.

Two books...by me.

I'm just as surprised as you are.

And at the same time, not all that surprised. It's like that song by Rascal Flatts, Broken Road. The journey to get here was full of pot holes, detours, and the occasional dead skunk carcass. But it was my journey, and I wouldn't have gotten to this point without it.

I can honestly look back and say - without any doubt - I would not be the person I am today without The Year of Exploration. And despite all my anxiety about the publishing process, despite Lance and all his bull$hit, and despite the all-too-frequent bouts of self-doubt, I'm ready for whatever comes next. I'm ready.

The funny thing is, I can say all of that and be telling the truth. I am.

But I can also say, the whole idea of the next three weeks has me Freaked Out. There was a time when I liked to travel, when I liked adventure, when I liked the unknown. There was a time I felt invincible. I can almost remember what it felt like. Yet, despite all the personal growth, the lessons learned during TYOE and the incredible year that followed it, I'll probably never be able to take another trip without wondering, worrying about what whether I'll be alright. I worry about being alone. I worry about not being alone enough. I worry about whether I'll get sick. I worry about literally everything. And it's exhausting.

I'm exhausted.

If you think I like admitting that, you're insane. I hate it. But as my friend Janet says, ever since that first panic attack in Dunkin' Donuts over three years ago, this is my "new normal."

And I'm better than I was then. Oh so much better. I'm happier. I'm proud of who I am now and what I've done. I'm even more proud of what I'm about to do, of who I'm still becoming. I worry less, way less. But I still worry.

It's my new normal.

You can't have it all. I know that. But sometimes, especially these last few days, I wish I could. I wish I could keep all the amazing lesson's learned, the maturity, the drive to move forward. I wish I could keep all that, without the bumps and bruises, without the scars from how I got here.

I wish I could travel not because it's "good for me" or "what I need to" or "the right thing," but because I'm crazy, out-of-my-skin excited to go on an adventure. Maybe I'll get to that place again one day. I hope so. But I'm not there today.

I used to have a kickboxing hoodie that read "Bruises are just tatoos with better stories." As I look ahead to two weeks of reading, rereading, and editing my memoir about TYOE, I'll have to sift through a lot of stories -- a lot of bruises. And if I'm completely honest, that's what's got me down lately. Because I know it'll be hard to relive it. Each bruise, each scar will hurt all over again. Except this time, each one will be self-inflicted.

I just have to hope that reaching the other side, that getting this book written and published, will be worth it. I have to hope it'll be as healing a process as hurtful. I have to hope maybe it'll help someone else realize they, too, can move forward. I have to hope that the joy I feel when I'm writing will just keep growing, and growing, and growing if I stick it out and push through days like this.

So, I'm going West.

Hopefully, the mule will meet me there.

*Assuming this photo was taken looking south...

Image: http://www.google.com/imgres?hl=en&gbv=2&biw=1280&bih=572&tbm=isch&tbnid=amhsjA_N5XTtXM:&imgrefurl=http://deleuzecinemaproject1.blogspot.com/2010/10/bulls-guns-buster-keaton-go-west.html&docid=86nvCiBm37vifM&imgurl=http://3.bp.blogspot.com/

For dad on his birthday

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole Ross) — Tue, 07 Feb 2012 22:27:00 +0000

Go ahead. Just say it. You know you want to. Awww!

This is one of my favorite pictures of my dad and me. I'm the ragdoll in the pink onsie. He's the one who looks like he hasn't slept in a few days -- which was probably true.

Sorry about that, Dad.

But he muscled through, bless his record-playing heart, and here we are 29 years later. So here's a special post dedicated to my dad on his 61st birthday.

Here are a few of my favorite things about Dad in no particular order:

He always sounds happy when I call. He might be faking it sometimes, but that's fine. Because, in that case, he's a really good faker -- and I don't know the difference.
He supports my propensity for random hobbies. From horseback riding to disaster response training, kickboxing to yoga, TYOE to writing, he's always interested and supportive.
He fixes things. Computers, fans, my day-to-day quandries. He's my #1 Mr. Fix-It.
He taught me the world is a big, exciting place and that I should see as much of it as possible.
He gives great hugs. And we all know how much I love hugs.

But most importantly, he's one of only a handful of people I can be totally myself with.* He knows my strengths, my talents. He reminds me of them when I forget. But he's also keenly aware of my faults -- every single one of them.

And he loves me anyway.

Today's a pretty special day, certainly one to celebrate. Here's to another 29 years, Dad. Love you.

*Don't worry Mom, so are you.

Flying Solo

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole Ross) — Sat, 28 Jan 2012 15:09:00 +0000

I've been watching a lot of Grey's Anatomy lately. It puts me in a dramatic mood, and that helps me write. The interns spend quite a bit of time vying for the first "solo surgery." It's a right of passage, a vote of confidence from the Power That Be, and an adrenaline rush. Flying solo means they're a real doctor.

Though I may not be up to my elbows in someone's cancerous bowels, I'm going to be flying solo a lot this year. I can just feel it.

Take writing a book, for example. It's not exactly a team sport. You spend a lot of time alone, hunched over your computer, staring at the devilish blinking cursor. Sure, you might have other writing friends. You swap stories, and sometimes whole manuscripts, but for the most part, you're on your own.

Next month I'm hitting the road for almost three weeks, and I'm doing it alone. Traveling alone isn't new for me; I'm well-versed in airport signage, slip-on shoes for expedited security lines, and the common "Would you like one key or two? One." front desk conversations.

But pitching my memoir to agents in San Francisco, researching my characters' lives in Seattle, then spending a week editing my manuscripts in a Washington town I've never heard? That's a lot to do by yourself, at least it feels like it.

I have a nasty habit of simultaneously imagining every moment of the future before it happens. Especially, if an experience is potentially scary, tiring, or confusing. So lately, I've been imagining my tongue-tied agent pitch, my solo train trip across Washington seated next to a serial killer, the deserted Leavenworth Amtrak station, my car-less, stranded existence for a week, and about a dozen other exhausting what-ifs -- at the same time.

Residual-worry, I call it. It's the new black, and all the cool kids are embracing it.

But I hope it won't always be what I do. I hope one day I'll grow out of that "Lost Year-Inspired" neurosis and take each moment as it comes. I'll look forward to a trip like this without pulling out every moment that could go wrong. I'll think about the future without getting overwhelmed before it's even here. My sense of adventure will finally override my sense of worry the way it used to. For good.

That's what I hope will happen. One day.

After all, I have a 100% success rate at staying alive. So chances are, everything will work out fine.

I just miss the days when I didn't have to tell myself that over and over. Sometimes, I miss those days a lot.

So, here's to flying solo this year. It may feel overwhelming, but it just means you're trained and ready for whatever comes your way.

Tipped

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole Ross) — Sat, 14 Jan 2012 13:49:00 +0000

Balance. I'm not sure any life quality is more evasive, at least for me. That's probably why I loved this picture. Like, a lot.

Over the last 75 days, I've written more than 87,000 words. How much is that? About 330 pages, give or take. And this morning I find myself wondering...

Where in the world did all that time come from?

I have a finite number of minutes and hours each day. And 76 days ago, I was using approximately zero of them to write. But now...

Now, things are different. Now, I try to write at least 1,000 words each night. It doesn't always happen, but I get close.

And in the midst of all that, I'm working on my graduate thesis (or am supposed to be), embarking on an exciting new job, and trying to make sure my friends and family still know what I look like.

So where did all that writing time come from?

I'm still not sure. But what I am sure of is that I need to be careful. As wonderful as it feels to be writing again, and as committed as I am to my memoir and novel, I have a long-standing history of getting...tipped.

Unbalanced.

Skewed, if you will.

I throw myself into something new and slowly but surely burn out. Not my interest, but my energy.

So this weekend, I'm taking a self-mandated Word Break. I'm going to start Monday exactly where I left off last night -- 87,267.* And I'm not allowed to feel guilty about it. Anyway, I'm not sure what happens next, and the rest of my to-do list get a wee-bit out of hand. And that's usually a sign, a big flashing red sign, that it's time to take a break.

"All things in moderation," said someone really smart who had time to sit around thinking of really smart things to say.

Balance is the name of the game. At least for the next 48 hours.

*Ahem, this blog doesnt' count...

Shut up Lance

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole Ross) — Sat, 07 Jan 2012 20:04:00 +0000

"Writing a book is like driving a car at night; you can only see to the end of your headlights; but you can make the whole trip that way." - E. L. Doctorow

This timely quote made it's way to me through my yogi pal Courtney this morning. I'm thinking about tattooing it on my bicep. Or my face, backwards, so I read it when I look in the mirror every morning. You see, I was lying there in bed wondering what in the world happens next. This is a common question for writers, especially when they've made the mistake of taking a few days off. The story, the characters, they all fade just a little. It's harder to remember where they were headed and why.

And there's no better time for your Inner Critic to make his unwelcome appearance. Trust me.

If you're not familiar with this fellow, just start writing a book. You'll meet him in a hurry. He's the one that tells you to go watch another episode of Grey's Anatomy instead of make yourself sit down and write. He's the one who perches on your shoulder and tells you how terrible your story is and how no one - and he means NO ONE - will like it.

During National Novel Writing Month, I was warned about this shady character. I was warned to block him out of my mind, to send him packing for 30 days because he'd just get in the way. And they were right.

But now, it's January. And I've been writing a lot. Like, 300 pages, a lot. And my Inner Critic has come a'knocking once again. That's why I was comforted to stumble upon an article in one of my old Writer's Digest magazines about author Julia Cameron. She struggled with her Inner Critic her entire career - still does. He was so real to her, in fact, that she named him Nigel.

He's hated every book, every line, every word she's ever written. And he tells her so to her face.

But Cameron presses on. She's one of us: "A person with a blank page, occasionally haunted by self-doubt, adversity, writer's block, personal demons. And she continues to pursue the artist within her -- regardless of how far she may drift."

I love that. I needed that.

So I've decided to take her advice to heart. I'd like you to meet Lance, my newly-named, surly Inner Critic. He hates everything I write, too. He thinks my descriptions are too boring, my characters are too flat, and my manuscript is best suited for winter kindling.

He threw a hissy fit when I told him my fireplace was fake.

Just this morning, he reminded me that my novel is a failure. And that memoir? Forget it. It'll never be finished, much less see the light of day.

He's kind of a tool, really. But you can probably tell that from his pompous vest and overzealous use of hair product.

If I'm completely honest, it wasn't my busy schedule that kept me away from the page the last four days. It was Lance.

Rat bastard.

But here's the good news about Lance. He doesn't always get his way. Sometimes I can lock him outside for weeks and ignore his pounds at my door (he can make quite a racket and howls in the cold like a big, fat baby). Sometimes, a lot of the time, I can shut him up long enough to write 1,000 words.

And come year's end, when I'm sitting here with two completed manuscripts and agents panting like prized Irish Setters for a chance to represent my work?

We'll see who's laughing then, Lance. We'll see who's laughing then...

First Day of School

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole Ross) — Wed, 04 Jan 2012 03:24:00 +0000

That's kind of what it feels like - the first day of school. Come to think of it, that's kind of what it looks like, too. .

Tomorrow I start a new job. My very first day. It's my first day at the same company I've worked at for seven years, so it probably shouldn't feel like a first day, right? But here I am - a little excited, a little nervous.

You remember what that feels like.

Tomorrow I start a new job. I'm saying it over and over so I actually believe it. Believe that I'm leaving my team after seven long and wonderful years. Leaving great friends and colleagues. Or at least moving fifteen feet downstairs from them.

But it feels a little bit the same.

It makes me sad to think about leaving. But that's alright. That means I have built something good to leave behind, that's all. And I'll do it again.

It doesn't mean there's nothing to look forward to. Because there is. There's a whole lot to look forward to. Otherwise, I wouldn't be doing it. I wouldn't change. I'd play it safe.

But the truth is, I know this is absolutely the right decision for me. I know it because it took about five seconds to say yes. And that's an even better feeling than knowing you have something good to lose. Because only when I change can I really grow. The Year of Exploration taught me that (well that, and a heckova lot more...).

Tomorrow I start a new job. I'll be working with some friendly faces, and a whole lot of new ones. But they'll be friendly soon enough. I'll be working for a man I respect and admire, a man who gave up a year of his time to sit on my Steering Committee not all that long ago. And what's more, he knows exactly what he's getting - the good and the bad.

And that's strangely comforting.

I don't have to be perfect. I just have to do my best. TYOE taught me that. And so did he.

Tomorrow I start a new job. There are good things ahead. Because the person I am now? She's a few years older and a few years wiser. And she's ready for a new challenge.

She's ready for...anything.

Onward!

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole Ross) — Wed, 28 Dec 2011 23:36:00 +0000

[Annoying kissey sounds] I've missed you. And you. And especially YOU!

It's hard to believe it's been three months since I last blogged. Harder still to figure out how to jump back in and bring you up to speed on the happenings of late. So I thought we'd take it slow. Baby steps. Smidgens of bits of news.

First, a few things that have not occured since we last talked:

I have not moved to Montana and become a bison farmer
I have not gotten married, had a child, changed my name to escape the law, or been institutionalized for blog abandonment
I have not forgotten about TYOE or any of you!

And now for a few things that have happened in the last three months:

I traveled to Costa Rica with Anahata Movement for a week-long yoga retreat (more on this later)
I accepted a new job - same company, different team, very different role (more later)
I finished my final grad school course (5 years...) and have only a thesis standing between me and graduation!
I rekindled my writing during National Novel Writing Month and am nearly 300 pages into my first novel and continuing to move my memoir forward (more on this later, as well!)
I made the decision to end TYOE Part II (more on this later, too, for the spirit of TYOE lives on)

As I head into 2012, I couldn't be more excited for what's ahead. We have a lot to catch up on, you and I. But we have time. And we'll get to all of it.

For now, I'm here. Talk to me.

Voices in my head

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole Ross) — Sun, 09 Oct 2011 16:14:00 +0000

Every year about this time, I disappear. My friends don't see much of me. My parents have to look at old pictures to remember my face. As you can probably gather from the photo above, I enter a different world - the world of event production for my company's annual user conference. And I love it.

I've blogged about the conference before, so I won't bore you again with all the details. But suffice it to say that for those three days, tucked away backstage juggling dozens of nervous speakers, deciphering a dozen crew voices in my headset, and handling more presentations than I'd wish on my worst enemy, I feel like I'm in the right place at the right time.

And these days, that's a feeling I've really been missing.

So despite the long hours, unavoidable stresses, and good 'ol fashioned hard work, I can honestly look back and say that I especially enjoyed this year's conference. I was exactly where I was supposed to be. I was doing something I'm uniquely suited for, something I add more value to than someone else could.

I think that must be what people feel like all the time when they work for a cause they're passionate about (read: saving puppies) or when they save a stranger from a burning house (read: or so I hear). Most of the time I just get glimpses, small moments in time where I'm caught almost by surprise "Oh, it feels like this!" Most of the time I'm just doing what I'm "supposed to do," what I'm told to do, or what I feel guilty if I don't do. And that just seems a bit...unfulfilling.

I find myself wondering if I'll ever be in a place and time to feel like I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be for more than a few passing moments. I sure hope so.

I guess that's something I can ponder in Costa Rica...twelve days to go!

My home away from home - back stage

The set-up

My awesome crew!

"B People"

noreply@blogger.com (Nicole Ross) — Sat, 24 Sep 2011 00:39:00 +0000

Doing well makes sense. Doing my best, that makes even more sense. I'm used to that. I know how to do that.

But this semester, I'm trying to do the exact opposite. I'm trying not to do my best. I'm trying to do a little less well. I'm trying my darndest to get a "B."

I'm five weeks into my final class of grad school. I've already skipped twice.