Retreating.

On Wednesday, I’m heading off to the Pacific Northwest to attend the Story Excavation retreat with Liz Lamoreux, Kelly Barton, and Jen Lee on the coast of Oregon.

Can I be honest with you? I’m not 100% excited to attend the retreat. In fact, if I wasn’t going to lose the money I’ve put into it so far, I’d probably cancel. I’m not sure where this reluctance is coming from. [Future self has come back to add: Yes you do, please read ahead.] I signed up to attend in the first place because it’s been four years since I went to Squam Art Workshops, which turned out to be a life-changer, and I’ve been wishing and thinking about attending another retreat for the past few years. I assumed I’d attend Squam itself this year, but they are taking a different and more homestead-y approach this session by partnering up with the magazine Taproot. I had zero interest in that. But when I saw that Jen Lee was one of the teachers at the Story Excavation retreat, I jumped at the opportunity because I missed out on taking one of her classes at Squam and I’ve heard she is wonderful.

Now that the retreat is only a few days away, the resistance has popped up. A large part of it is likely just the fact that I have to show up. It was somewhat easy for me to go to Squam because I’d never done anything like that before and had no expectations of the ways I would be challenged and grow. Now that I’ve been through it once, I already know that this retreat will likely force me to be open and vulnerable, face some of the challenging events of the past year (hello, death and parental estrangement!), share my work, and most certainly ugly cry in front of strangers.

Though I JUST wrote about vulnerability and my desire for openness in my last post, I’m here to tell you that IT’S NOT EASY. It’s like wanting to be safely on the other side of a mountain without doing the hard work of climbing to the top and risking a fall. Or several.

My mind is on overdrive, thinking about how I’m probably not going to connect with anyone in the group and freaking out that I’ll certainly have my period on the retreat (EVEN MORE EMOTIONS YAY!), and worrying that I’m wasting money that could have been spent in a better way. It would be so much easier to cancel.

But I recognize all of this as defense mechanisms and ways to protect myself from feeling vulnerable. My gut feeling is that I'm glad there isn’t a way for me to cancel, despite all these fearful feelings. The truth is: I can be weak. I look for ways out of commitments. I like my comfort zone. I take the easy route when possible. My fear can be stronger than my desires, but in this instance, I don't have that option. And the honest voice underneath the fear tells me that I do want to go, or I never would have signed up in the first place.

So, Self, let’s turn this anxiety down a notch, okay? Everything is going to be okay. And if you remain nervous leading up to the retreat, just focus on the things you are looking forward to:
- The Oregon Coast. I’ve been to Seaside and Cannon Beach before, and it’s so so beautiful. We’ll be just a tiny bit further north in Gearhart, and I can’t wait for some beach walks.
- Pine State Biscuits in Portland. I super mega love biscuits and I super mega love diners, so I can’t wait to eat here.
- A day to myself. After the retreat, I have the rest of the day to make my way back to Portland before my flight out the next morning. I’m currently debating between doing a scenic drive/hike of some kind somewhere west of Portland, or going into Portland for the day. I do love Portland (and Powell’s!) but one of my favorite things about the Pacific Northwest is the access to nature that is lacking in the Chicago area. So my inclination is leaning towards something nature-y.
-  A screening of Indie Kindred, Jen Lee’s documentary about creative collaboration. I’m really excited to see this.

I'll see you when I return next Monday! And hopefully I won't be a total emotional mess post-retreat :)