Today I saw my book in the flesh for the first time

And what I saw SHOCKED ME

On Monday, a box of my new book, "LOOK UP" arrived at my door.

For almost two days, I let it sit on my couch unopened.

I was too anxious to open it.

What if they're not good quality?
What if the poems suck now that all this time has passed since writing them?
What if I feel nothing at all, and discover I really am numb inside?

Every day I'd walk by "THE BOX OF BOOKS," debating whether to open it, then decide to wait.

Wait until...I was in a better headspace. Until I didn't feel depressed. Until I had a glass of wine and could quiet my negative thoughts. Wait until....I was ready.

The truth is, I'm never ready. None of us is. At some point, we just make the next right step, or any step, in some direction, even if we have no idea where we are going, even if we have no idea how to get there, even if we're terrified of leaving what's behind us.

Lately, I've been asking myself a lot of questions about my life.

I don’t know what I want for my future. I don’t know if I can keep writing or using social media for work. I don’t know what steps to take for my mental health because I feel like I’ve taken them all. I feel incredibly stuck and in limbo, with no direction, and truthfully, no energy to move.

THE BOX OF BOOKS seemed to mock me like a metaphorical and cosmic joke: a physical manifestation of my stuckness.

Do I open the book before I'm ready even though I don't know how I'll feel or what I'll find?
Do I wait for a sign or some internal knowing that opening the box will bring me relief or joy?
Or do I keep it taped up and hide it away in some closet somewhere, never to be opened, never to discover what happens if I open it.

Today, I decided to rip off the band-aid and open THE BOX OF BOOKS.

I'd have to eventually--unless I wanted an empty table of books at my book launch this weekend.

"I suppose that wouldn't be a good look," I thought.

I tried to ceremonialize the opening: I put on my current favorite joy-cry song, prepared myself to accept however I felt, and recorded myself peeling open the flaps of the cardboard box--for the memory.

THE BOX OF BOOKS revealed a small but bright bundle of my books.

Immediately, I burst into laughter. They were really in there--no snakes or hoaxes, no SURPRISE WE DIDN'T PUBLISH YOUR CRAP envelope--just my books.

Pride started to swell into my chest and bubbled in my throat--I still felt a pang of doubt.

What if what I wrote is simply not good?

I flipped through the book to see the inside and landed on a random poem.

It read:

“you’re lost between
then
and
now
but doesn’t
between
still mean
you’re somewhere?”

The bubbling in my throat curdled and I coiled into a ball on the floor.

Those were the words I needed to hear today, and somehow past me knew to write them.

Which means that somehow, today's version of me doesn't realize it but she's going to help future me someday, too, if I let her. If I let myself take the next right step, any step, and move forward, I'll have more moments like this when I can look back and say,

"Oh, I see now, I was just in between."

LOOK UP is a collection of poems & short love notes offering encouragement in times of uncertainty, transition, & grief.

With gentle reminders to stay hopeful and find comfort in life's small moments, the words on these pages will you: This is not who you are; it’s something you’re going through.

Reminders, that no matter how heavy, no matter how dark, no matter how stuck, to look up.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart for being here, for reading my crap and the good stuff, and for supporting me no matter where I’m at in life. I could not do this work without you, and I am eternally grateful.

All my messy love,
Rachel