If not for the moment when our training took over, last week would have seen me hugging a comparative stranger in a mutual, teary embrace. But I am a recovering family physician, and she an active occupational therapist, so the impulse was lost as we carefully evaluated body language. Neither of us wished to be the cause of an unwanted intimacy.
I would have enjoyed that hug. Since I can’t go back and tell propriety to stuff it, what I can do is unpack the magic of that occasion and see what lessons it contains for writing.
We two had been brought together by a senior citizen.
“Agnes,” a once-proud, fiercely independent woman was dealing with declining health and mobility issues. In recent months, she had come to rely upon others for help with meal preparation and dressing. She struggled to walk a few feet to the washroom, meaning that her life revolved around her bladder’s shrinking capacity. She routinely refused minor pleasures, like a cup of herbal tea or a bowl of soup, out of fear that she couldn’t reach the restroom in time. The result was a state of mild dehydration which had implications for her drug levels and mental alertness, and probably played a role in several worrisome falls.
Agnes had tried a cane with only modest success and resisted a walker out of the belief that it would create another physical dependence, weakening her further. Also, though she sidestepped the issue, I suspected a financial barrier.
Enter the occupational therapist and her dented, untrendy, gorgeous loaner walker.
Enter the moment of truth: Agnes’s tentative steps. The disbelieving smile with her first pain-free movement in years. Her burst of speed as she did a circuit of the house. Agnes’s tears when she understood that because of the kindness of strangers, this moment would cost her precisely nothing.
While I can’t be certain what the OT’s tears represented for her, I can extrapolate based upon my past, comparable professional experiences.
First, I believe she was in the grip of what I’ll call a Peak Moment of Meaning (PMoM).
Of the OT’s past 2000 clinical encounters, I’m willing to bet that most of her clients were too well, too stressed, too preoccupied, or too entitled to appreciate that moment as a minor miracle. Agnes’s obvious joy, on the other hand, probably had the OT thinking something like this: Now this is why I trained for six years and accrued a mountain of student debt. This is what it’s all about.
The second component of that scene is what I’ll call a Peak Moment of Gratitude (PMoG).
For as much as the OT contributed to that moment, she was but the final, visible step of a cumulative process. Were we to unspool the list of necessary preconditions to Agnes’s freedom, we could easily name a thousand components. The most obvious: that we live in a peaceful and prosperous country that has the luxury of caring for its senior citizens, at least in part; that I had sufficient education—again, partly funded by my country—to know what was possible for Agnes and advocate for her despite her resistance; that the OT’s salary was provided by my provincial government and she was an engaged, compassionate individual; that the Red Cross had enough donors to accumulate a pool of loaner walkers; that Agnes values her independence enough to grasp the moment’s import.
All this made me think about writing—about whether we have access to equivalent moments (PMoMs and PMoGs) in this world, and whether they can be similarly noticed and cultivated and celebrated.
Why bother, you ask? Because a sense of purpose and gratitude inoculate us against self-doubt, surliness, and all the grievances, both petty and large, which can separate us from our work and from our humanity. They keep us striving despite rejections and frustration. And frankly, if you take a meaning and gratitude inventory with an honest and open heart, it feels freaking fantastic.
So in the interests of modeling and the spirit of the season, here is a brief accounting of my writing related PMoMs and PMoGs, which for the most part overlap.
You can’t write without understanding the quiet, profound pleasure of working to combine words in pleasing, amusing, and useful combinations. Of bringing characters to life and discovering fresh twists to the genres you love. This is private work that is self-sustaining and essential to all writers, but none more than the novelist, who may go months or years or decades without receiving enthusiastic feedback.
I’m grateful for imagined moments about my future fiction. (Yes, I can be strange like this; I don’t have to experience an event in reality to benefit from its occurrence.) For example, assuming I do my job properly, I hope future readers will be inspired to forgive someone who’s emotionally unavailable, find empathy for a person lost to grief.
I’m grateful to the Internet/Facebook/Twitter—all forms of social media which we love to malign, but which allows us to communicate at nominal cost. What a time to be alive! We can connect and squabble like siblings about the usefulness of blog posts, how to interpret the themes of a book, and whether Fifty Shades of Grey deserved its audience.
I’m grateful to Therese and Kathleen, who founded Writer Unboxed and created a safe space for writing-related conversation. They are single-handedly responsible for many of my writing-related PMoGs and PMoMs, and have encouraged both me and others in more ways than I can count.
Also, look at that crew of contributors in the sidebar. While some readers believe they are here for promotional purposes alone, I don’t believe that captures the truth of their work. I’ve met many of them in person. They can’t fake their fire or enthusiasm, their desire to teach. You don’t hang around WU, comment on other writers’ posts, upload and edit endless posts, or moderate conversations—at least not for long—unless you are invested in a cause bigger than yourself.
Lastly, I’m grateful to you, dear Unboxeders. Through comments both here and in private, you’ve allowed me to know my words don’t disappear into the void. I count it a success when I know my work makes a difference to one other person, perhaps by allowing them to envision a bigger life. Your kindness soothes that part of me which left medicine behind but which clearly hasn’t abandoned the desire to heal.
Now I’d like to invite you to think through your writing-related Peak Moments of Meaning and Gratitude. Please tell us about them in the space below. And if they are sparse, my wish for you is that 2016 will be filled with moments of clarity and purpose and full-hearted thankfulness.
I believe Agnes would want that for you, too.
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About Jan O'Hara
A former family physician and academic, Jan O'Hara (she/her) left the world of medicine behind to follow her dreams of becoming a writer. She writes love stories that zoom from wackadoodle to heartfelt in six seconds flat: (Opposite of Frozen; Cold and Hottie; Desperate Times, Desperate Pleasures). She also contributed to Author in Progress, a Writer's Digest Book edited by Therese Walsh.
I had a PMoG yesterday when my mentor told me that after a multitude of outlines and drafts I FINALLY found the core of my story and have the green light to proceed. Very thankful for all of you at Unboxed. Great input and help for writers!
Now that’s a gratifying moment, Carol. Congratulations. Hope you roll around in the feeling for a while. ;)
Thanks for these inspiring words, Jan. This says it all for me: “You can’t write without understanding the quiet, profound pleasure of working to combine words in pleasing, amusing, and useful combinations. Of bringing characters to life and discovering fresh twists to the genres you love. This is private work that is self sustaining and essential to all writers, but none more than the novelist who may go months or years or decades without receiving enthusiastic feedback.” As I struggle with a major reboot of my work-in-progress, these words are a healing balm. May we all find moments of meaning and gratitude inn 2016. Best wishes to you and your family for a happy New Year.
Yes, “profound pleasure” palpably connected to the physical act of approaching the keyboard, anticipating the deep immersion to come (even on the niggling days when that’s elusive.)
I’m eternally grateful to my later-in-life writing teachers—you saved me.
I’m drop-dead grateful for the community of writers, in the online ether, in person, via Zoom chats (!) who offer outstanding posts such as this one that offer up heart.
Thank you.
You’ve been conditioned to anticipate joy as you approach the computer, Gail? How lovely. I will have to check out these Zoom chats you speak of. Looks like a useful tool. Best wishes for your writing in 2016.
If it must be done, t’s a good time of year to tackle a reboot, Chris. Wishing you much success and enjoyment as you go through the process.
I love those labels–PMoM and PMoG. So much of life involves slogging through the valleys. When we reach the peaks, we ought to breathe in the fresh air and soak up the views. Thank you for that reminder today.
I won’t bore you with my list of thankful-for’s, but Writer Unboxed is on it. I rarely comment, but I almost always read the posts. They are thoughtful, instructive, encouraging, and unique. Among the multitude of writing-related blogs, Writer Unboxed stands alone. Thank you to the founders and all the contributors. May God richly bless you and your work.
I’m delighted you delurked, Robin. When I was learning about ways to nurture and create hope from my friend Dr. Ronna Jevne, I always remember her emphasis on celebration–or, as you might say, reveling in attaining the peaks. :)
An excellent message for this time of year, Boss. It’s so wise to focus on meaning and gratitude. Especially as opposed to, say, focusing on our shortcomings or desires.
I read this before I took Gidget for a walk, and what came to mind, out there in the rain, was a recent story epiphany I had regarding my WIP. I woke from a dream, and got up to close the bedroom window. When I got back in bed, the dream was still thundering in my head. I focused on what it might mean, and voilà! It was a key – a story element that unlocked a bunch of niggling issues. It’s small, but the more I explored it, the more I discovered it means. Sort of like the pebble to the avalanche.
I’m obviously grateful for the opening of a door to the unconscious mind, but I realized as I walked that it’s emblematic of what you’re discussing here, Jan. The story element in my epiphany is a symbol. It represents a setup and a payoff. It connects dots that my former writerly self wouldn’t have even had on his radar. My former self would’ve said, “Huh. Weird dream,” rolled over, and gone back to sleep.
So what brings both meaning and gratitude to me at the end of this year? A recognition of, and appreciation for, my growth. And it all ties solidly back to WU. I don’t know if I could adequately convey how much WU has meant to my writing journey if I wrote my own post on it. So I humbly offer my gratitude to you, Jan, and to Kath and T, and to everyone in the sidebar, and who’s contributed to this fount of writerly support, encouragement, and wisdom. Many blessings to you all this holiday season!
And to you, Good Sir V, who I’ll note plays a prominent part in that sidebar!
Wishing you a 2016 full of revelatory pebble-to-avalanche dreams.
Noticing – and Appreciating.
This year has been filled with those moments, since, after fifteen years, I finally published.
Everything that was in the future (well, not everything – stardom is still far in the future) – everything under MY control – is now in the past.
It is almost selfish to want for more, isn’t it?
So MANY of those moments have depended on the kindness of strangers. But that’s what writers are trying to do: communicate with strangers. The internet is full of kind strangers who have taken a moment to say they liked my book or a blog post, or to comment that it affected them.
With the internet, these connections can be very immediate – I don’t know how writers survived in the past, when a fan letter MIGHT get to an author after going through a publisher…
I needed a lot of support. I have received it. I try to give a little of it back. I am profoundly grateful for the new world.
Thank you for sharing Agnes and the OT. And your moments.
Alicia
I loved your post, Alicia, particularly this bit. “So MANY of those moments have depended on the kindness of strangers. But that’s what writers are trying to do: communicate with strangers.” I hadn’t thought of it in that way, but what an expansive belief.
It seems rare to meet an author whose emphasis is on gratitude after his/her first release. Many find it to be an anti-climax. Thank you for providing a counter-example.
If you focus on the anti-climax, why would you want to do it again? And does that mean you were NOT in it for the long haul? Few writers – if any – get instant success.
No, this is a career. They will pry the keyboard (or whatever else we’re using when the time comes) from my cold dead fingers.
That’s the plan, anyway. I had a late start, and I’m slow. I have a lot of catching up to do.
I am soooo grateful I got to attend StoryMasters right here in Charleston before my health took a nosedive. In the months since, every time I’ve been well enough to write, it’s been a gift, even if it’s just scribbling ideas and notes in bed. All these small moments have added up. I’ve started a new treatment (botox — eeek! 31 injections!!!) for the chronic migraines and looking forward to a wonderful writing year (and without pain!), knowing that all the small moments is what it’s really about. Oh, and there’s a side effect … I can no longer frown :)
Merry Christmas Jan. and may your New Year bring many beautiful small moments to celebrate.
Dear unwrinkled Vijaya: I’m sorry you’ve been fighting through ill health, but I admire your attitude, humor and pragmatism. Here’s hoping 2016 will see a resumption of wellness and a vigorous usage of the StoryMaster wisdom.
I often experience both PMoG and PMoM. And this is a perfect time of year to stop and realize that you are having these experiences–whether it’s sappy or not. Life is too short not to be grateful and not to stop and analyze why you write and how it feeds your love of writing. Life has to have MEANING and purpose and sometimes when I have put time and energy into the words on the page I do have to ask myself why. Will anyone ever read it? Where are the paybacks and the dividends? They are in me, in my willingness to contemplate how life becomes fiction, how experience lights up the process of story telling. And that’s the key isn’t it. Our humanity is linked to story telling and we are making sure that it remains on the planet. Happy Holidays.
Beth, your comment was perfect. (Want to do my January post for me?) Happy holidays! It’s been a pleasure to get to know you better this year.
You’re pretty smart for a doctor. God bless and Merry Christmas, Jan. xo
You mean I occasionally pass the Thea-BS-o-meter? I’m honored. I’m given to understand the threshold is set pretty high.
Merry Christmas, Thea. XO yourself.
Your post made me–just for a moment, mind you–slow down and reflect. Yes, so much to be grateful for, not least of all the community here on WU. Thank you Jan and everyone. Happy Holidays!
I’m glad if you had an instant to catch your breath, Don. Happy Holidays, and thank you for all you do here.
I’ll be thinking about PMoMs and PMoGs, but lately my obsession has been DMoGs — daily moments of gratitude. I’m having one of those now. Thank you for being a part of the WU community, Jan, and for your kind words here. Happy Holidays!
DMoGs are the best, T. I try to notice 10 of them every time I journal.
Happy Holidays!
The write-ten edict sounds like a winner. A great way to ease into the day’s journalling. I’ve formed a hypothesis that being grateful acts as a springboard for creativity. I’m looking forward to testing that out. Thanks so much for sharing the joy and truth. -Teresa
Teresa, I never censor myself in my journal, but the gratitude list helps me create a forward-looking narrative instead of just writing page after page of venting. Hope you find it similarly helpful.
Your hypothesis makes sense to me. Happy holidays!
I’m thankful because I recently attended Viable Paradise which rekindled the idea that I can write and write well.
Scallywag–love that screen name, BTW–I’d be thankful in that instance too! Congratulations!
I just want to say that I’m glad I discovered this warm and welcoming writers’ community. I am very grateful for the daily inspiring posts. Peace and joy to all!
And to you, S.K! Thank you for being part of the community.
After reading this, I have my own tears, and I’m thankful for you and the OT and your kindness to Agnes. Consider this a virtual hug to you both.
Hugs back, Dana. See? I’m learning my lesson.
Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays to you.
Good stuff – sap-free and uplifting.
Thank you and have a great holiday season!
Thank you, Tom. And the same to you!
Jan thank you so much for this reminder. I have always written to find greater meaning, and have enjoyed so many peak moments of it. From women and men who struggle with body image to so many touched by suicide—even those who once considered it—I have received such moving personal notes that it embarrasses me I never tried to reach out to the authors whose works impacted me so deeply. (Different era I guess.) After publishing two novels I admit to getting caught up in the business end, where the reviews and sales seem to be all that can ensure another contract. Thanks for reminding me that what we do can offer so much more. To me, those private notes are spiritual currency. Merry Christmas!
Knowing you the bit that I do, I suspect you didn’t stray far from yourself, Kathryn. Still am delighted if this helped in any way. Merry Christmas to you and yours!
Oh, how I love this! “You can’t write without understanding the quiet, profound pleasure of working to combine words in pleasing, amusing, and useful combinations” stuck out to me as really beautiful. I, too, am having a PMoG for Writer Unboxed and Therese and Kathleen and all of the contributors and readers. This is the best kind of sappy. <3
Annie, if it’s January and you’re feeling that way, I’d count it as a win. Hugs. We’re fortunate, aren’t we?