living by the favor of interruptions
or, 7 truths I gained in 2023
this is my last post of 2023 🎉
I planned on taking a break after I wrapped up the virtual tour of my book The Hero and the Whore (TH&TW), but before I take my momentary egress from the online world I wanted to recap what I’ve gained and learned in this year. I decided to define the year according to the interruptions and pivots that I guided me throughout this year. I think it’s a better departure from the boasty type of “look at how great my year was” recaps. This year was fruitful, a dream came true! I’m officially a published author! It was also so very difficult and harrowing and painful. I gained a newer sense of self from the interruptions, and I’m very thankful for it.
I made a dream come true.
Let’s start with the most obvious interruption: I’m a published author! Not just once but twice over. This is the year The Hero and the Whore was birthed into the world. Once upon a time ago I secretly dreamed of being an author, and now I am one. AHHH! I also contributed a liturgy in verse for a beautiful devotional entitled The Modern Saints created by talented and kind portrait artist named Gracie Morbitzer. It’s wild to think that I went from being a dreamer wondering if anyone would receive my words to a full length book and a contribution in another. (And my friends
and have contributions in The Modern Saints too!)
I like to hold TH&TW in my hands and feeling the ways it warms my entire being. She's a beautiful sight to behold. As my friend Alicia says, “to hold this book is to hold an answered prayer.” The cover is stunning and the words are mine all mine.
I stopped thinking annually and started thinking seasonally.
I love the hype of the new year. I love the planning, the reflection, creating affirmations, and setting goals. When the year started I was waiting for my editor to get back to me with the first round of edits for TH&TW. I made a lot of goals for the year that, looking back, didn’t honor my limitations or make good use of my boundaries. (Editing is exhausting.) I am a goal setting girl, but at some point in the summertime I realized that the goals I made in January didn’t really speak for who I was becoming in September. It was hard for me to give myself the space and grace necessary to let go of certain goals I was fixated on. I knew I had to transition the way I operated in the world, I just didn’t know how I’d do it.
I’m into cosmology and decided to add it to my spiritual practices. I joke around and say that I’m a “zodiac girlie” but I’m not quite sure if that’s a joke anymore. I spent this year amassing knowledge (mainly through workshops led by authors) by learning about postcolonial astrology, allowing the moon to guide my insight, and reconnecting with the earth through our gardens. As I reflected on my annualized thinking, I came to my own realization that this thought process was given to us as a marketing strategy that pushes the economy forward by transitioning our holiday cheer into new year angst. With the moon and the stars and the earth as my guide, I decided to change my thinking. I no longer make plans for the whole year. I now live according to equinoxes and solstices. I listen to the stars and the moon and pray alongside side. This practice soothes me and alleviates the pressure I put on myself when I’m not hitting my goals for the year. What’s also interesting is how this type of thinking allows me to be more gentle with myself and create goals that aren’t rooted in production but are rooted in restoration and resistance. It’s no longer about gaining umpteen number of followers. Instead, it’s about ensuring I eat whole food meals, invite movement into my life, schedule in time to connect with friends or host a gathering at my house, go camping, celebrate my children for being who they are, and create things that are true to me. It’s kinda interesting how interrupting the annualized thinking model helped me become more embodied and deepen my humanity.
I gave myself permission to sing.
I don’t sing in public… ever. I’m a rare Filipina who will refuse every opportunity to bellow a Celine Dion song at the top of her lungs. Don’t ask me to sing Bohemian Rhapsody at karaoke. Don’t even ask me to sing a tribute to Whitney Houston, the patron saint of power ballads. I would probably break out into hives if expected to harmonize with a gospel choir. Best believe I will be contributing to the birthday song in the most hushed voice possible. Very few things in the world will give me as much anxiety as singing in public.
Earlier this year my husband and I were faced with the stress of him getting laid off then transitioning to a new job with lower pay, and me having transition back into the workforce while I was editing the manuscript for TH&TW. This happened at the time I was beginning my herbalism practice. I was reading a book about African American Herbalism. In it, the author explains the history of herbalism practice from ancient Egypt to Yoruba traditions during Black enslavement to our modern day uses. She mentioned that our ancestors at every stage of history would use sound in their herbalism healing practice.
Sound finds its way into our inner being to facilitate change on a cellular level. It also activates the healing energy of the plants and the person seeking healing.1
I decided I would start singing for myself and to my plants. It felt like an appropriate practice to connect me to my ancestors and find comfort through their healing practices. I started singing as I washed dishes. Then I’d sing to my herbs in the garden. I started singing as I folded the laundry. I began singing at work (when I was alone, where no one could find my voice). As I mentioned before, I don’t like sharing my singing voice. It’s because I’m a recovering perfectionist and I just don’t know how to sing well enough to feel comfortable sharing my voice to the public. I’m scared of the criticism. But my voice is mine and it’s quite capitalistic/soulless to think that my singing voice has to be beautiful in order to be voiced. It’s mine and that’s good enough. So, this year, I gave myself permission to allow the sound waves from my voice to heal the ache in my bones.
I decided that being denied wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.
2023 is the year I started submitting my works into the world! It feels a little backwards to say that because, yes, I was able to get a book deal which is a huge accomplishment. But I also wanted to expand my artistry as a poet and storyteller. After reading Octavia Butler’s essay on writing, I started taking workshops and getting comfortable with having my writing reviewed in small communities. It gave me the courage to start submitting my poetry to literary magazines.
I think submitting to literary magazines is more stressful than submitting book proposals. A big part of that is because I have an agent who filters through all the rejections my book proposals get (there are a lot of them) and sends me a very lovely and comforting email that includes positive feedback from publishers and acquisition editors who denied me. A denial from a literary journal, fellowship, or writing retreat/seminar hurts because I have no one but myself to help me filter through those feelings of rejection. I don’t know if you’ve noticed this about me, but I’m quite dramatic… in the best way possible, obviously ( ͡ಥ ͜ʖ ͡ಥ). It has been a hard journey to submit my works and receive No’s, but it has been good work. I am at the dawn of my journey with submitting works for review. During my first peak of sunlight I asked another poet (who is the editor of a literary magazine and published six poetry books) what I need to know about submissions. He told me that I will wear my denials as a badge of honor. I thought his advice sucked. I wanted to know how to finesse the system, not thicken my skin! But he was right, in order to trust myself as an artist I need to learn how to accept rejections and still affirm the goodness of my work. This has been a deep interruption in my life. I am learning to rely less on the dopamine high that comes from receiving likes and rely more on myself as the artists, affirming that what I make is worthy to be known.
Below is my submission tracker results for 2023. I have to admit that a 30% acceptance rate isn’t all that bad. What you don’t see in these numbers I every time I cried and consoled myself into not quitting the art. The silent 72% speaks volumes.
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