After my dad, a beloved local writer, died in early April, I had hoped that I’d be incredibly inspired to write. In his spirit, you know?
My dad was the biggest fan of my writing. In the last week of his life, he could recall back to me specific phrases that I’d written in a Facebook post at the end of February. This one in particular:
“Seriously underestimating the amount of mud we’d encounter on today’s walk, we had to navigate it, hopping from one side of the path to the other, like you’d navigate the wake behind a boat. But with a slow, plodding pace, there were no falls… not into a puddle or off of a muddy ridge. Icicles fallen from the trees would catch my eyes like crystals, and the woodpeckers worked diligently as I’d look closely to spot hard buds on low branches… the very first signs of Spring. It’s one of my favorite times of year where just under the dreary deadness of winter, we can have faith that growth and renewal are preparing to blossom, in nature and in our lives.”
At the time, he commented: “Beautiful writing, Katie!” But he was still thinking about it as his heart and liver were failing him due to amyloidosis.
My mom and my brother lost their biggest fan too. It’s not that the three of us don’t all love and support each other tremendously. We do. It’s that my dad’s exuberance as a fan was unmatched.
Upon his death, I knew right away that I wanted to eulogize my dad at his funeral. By the grace of God, I knew exactly what I wanted to say, and delivered it, voice unwavering, with courage that came from the depths of my soul. The eulogy itself was about courage… courage to live with an open heart, and to bravely share yourself with the world.
Buzzing from the vulnerability of the eulogy, from what seemed a fitting tribute to my Dad, I felt the deepest desire to produce more writing that my Dad would love. The line between desire and self-imposed pressure blurred as I kept the goal “write and publish in honor of Dad” written where I would see it every day. But then there was… nothing. After all, what’s the point when you lose your biggest fan?
I was far from alone in that sense of loss. My mom and my brother lost their biggest fan too. It’s not that the three of us don’t all love and support each other tremendously. We do. It’s that my dad’s exuberance as a fan was unmatched. He had the name of my brother’s band, Modoc, tattooed on his arm. And if Dad was a fan of yours—of your writing, your singing, your mission, your artwork, your restaurant—he made sure you knew it.
I wanted to write and I wanted to create, but I guiltily let Father’s Day and his birthday pass by without comment. The words just weren’t there. There was nothing to share. Nothing on grief, loss, or love.
I read and was inspired by Stephen King’s book On Writing. King’s methods and his mind… oh my. Yet for me, there was nothing.
I tried to stir creativity by giving myself a writing project. I would challenge my spiritual beliefs by taking a break from most of my spiritual practices, and keep a daily log of the results. I thought by taking apart my beliefs and putting them back together, I’d be moved to poetically uncover some deep, aching truth I could share with the world. But the results were dull. My beliefs and practices remained pretty much the same. I was hardly interested in re-reading my notes, let alone packaging it all up with a clever summary. There was just nothing there. Nothing my dad would have loved.
In my professional life, however, hardly a day goes by that I don’t write to exchange information in a manner that’s kind, clear, and direct. I regularly communicate en masse about wellness-related programming and opportunities. Without struggle, I plan and write presentations that I give on a 6-week basis.
So I was writing… and doing plenty of it. It just wasn’t personal.
I really love the time of the year leading up to Santa Lucia Day on December 13th through the Winter Solstice on December 21st. It’s as if we’re being told by nature to rest, to turn inward, and to honor the darkness, both outside and deep within ourselves. But it’s also a time of hope, a candle in the dark lighting the way, the bright, guiding star in the night sky, and an eventual return to light and longer days.
I once again felt the buzz of having shared my words, ideas and vulnerable heart with the world… The buzz, a sign of hope, that my words might help even one person.
But after the Solstice, the contrary hustle and bustle of the holidays sends me right back into my usual winter blues. Feeling extra grief this year, I made a decision with my doctor to get started on a seasonal depression medication.
The week after Thanksgiving, armed with Wellbutrin and in a big burst of energy, even to my own surprise, I completed two proposals. Both were based on fresh ideas from scratch, thus accomplishing one of my biggest goals for the end of the year. Proposal writing, it seems, is a fusion of my two writing styles… the direct and the inspired.
Writing those proposals, I once again felt the buzz of having shared my words, ideas and vulnerable heart with the world… The buzz, a sign of hope, that my words might help even one person.
So I keep coming back to my computer intentionally and inspired to write. And all tangled up in this writing about not writing is the soft light of hope helping me find my words in the darkness of mourning, and a story about grief, loss and love.
Katie Carlson is a certified yoga instructor and meditation teacher, a writer and frequent presenter on public safety, yoga, meditation and spirituality, and the Director of Wellness Initiatives for the Marion County Sheriff’s Office in Indianapolis, Indiana. She lives happily in Indianapolis’ Garfield Park neighborhood with her dog, OkeDoke.
Connect with Katie by following her on Instagram, Twitter, or LinkedIn. You can take yoga and meditation classes with Katie at Garfield Yoga Studio. Links to her previous writing and podcast interviews can be found on LinkTree.
