I used to belong there. I don’t belong there anymore.
And a blessing for the combined sadness and relief of it
Hi friends,
Before I jump into this week’s rather vulnerable Field Notes, I wanted to offer a very sincere thank you.
Last Tuesday, we launched my new book Field Notes for the Wilderness: Practices for an Evolving Faith out into the world and you met her with such open arms, I’m overwhelmed.
It won’t surprise you all to know that I’m quite glad to be on this side of ‘launch’ and, as I said in this thank-you video I posted on the evening of that day, I’m also so very glad to expunge the word ‘preorder’ from my vocabulary for a while.
At the bottom of this email, I’ll include a few links to some ‘bonus content’ related to the book this past week, but if you don’t keep scrolling for that, just know how much I appreciate you, your support, your kindness, and how gently our story intersects with my own. I’m glad we found each other and I’m honoured to be alongside of you through the page or the pixels.
And now to our regularly scheduled Field Notes…
I’m normally a pretty even-keel person, but publishing and promotion is such a wild ride of insecurities that it makes most of us a bit wobbly at times. This week was one of those for me. Some of it was outside pressure and other external things like our current unfolding apocalypse, for sure, but there were also long-dormant internal squabbles of worth, insecurity, comparison, and all manner of nonsense. Basically, if you ever think you’ve spiritually evolved, launching a book will swiftly disabuse you of that notion. What a … blessing?
In the midst of this, perhaps because I felt a bit exposed or vulnerable already, I experienced a particular pang of disorientation around belonging.
So I wanted to write about that this week. As much as conventional wisdom would say that I should always position myself as your Fearless Leader Who Hath Cracked the Codes for Success in order to sell a few more books of packaged certainties, well, we both know that isn’t true. I’m just as much in this business of living in real time as you all are and it’s silly to pretend otherwise.1
So rather than taking a victory lap today, I thought we could sit beside each other on this notion of belonging and the odd twisted sense of grief and relief waiting for us there. Perhaps we might find a bit of solidarity.
So here’s how this small thing unfolded: I was once part of a group of folks who helped envision a gathering for women. I participated in a couple of planning meetings and early events before it became pretty clear that it wasn’t the right fit for them or for me. There wasn’t a big show down or anything: I just became invisible to them when I was no longer useful to the brand. Sure, I’ve got a few stories there, a few hurts, a few regrets of my own, but that’s usual. Years have passed. I don’t think of this group much at all anymore, our paths hardly ever cross, and when I examine my heart, I know that I genuinely wish everyone goodness.
But they recently held another conference and the mutual social media overlap meant that the event showed up in my social media feeds this same week. And as I saw the pictures of friends along with now-former-friends and a few others who count me an enemy or reject of sorts now, all mingling and laughing and seemingly belonging together, I felt a sudden pang of sadness and longing.
I used to belong there. I don’t belong there anymore.