I am enough

Every year since 2015, my husband, Larry, and I have spent six weeks in Frisco, Colorado, a beautiful mountain town nestled in the Rockies. Our rented condo is a two-minute walk to my daughter, Julie, and her family. We breathe in the fresh mountain air and savor the beauty that surrounds us. We hike on miles of trail that take us under shimmering aspens, by flowing streams, and onto the shores of blue mountain lakes that reflected the snow-topped mountains. 

Frisco has always been a place of peace and renewal, but this summer I carried with me an emotional burden. I had recently launched on Amazon "Keep Calm and Bake Challah: How I Survived the Pandemic, Politics, Pratfalls, and Other of Life's Problems." My fourth book had been met with much initial excitement and congratulatory praise from the family and friends I had notified, but I had sold only 11 copies. Book stores and businesses to whom I had sent copies had not responded, and a planned ZOOM book club centered on my writing fell through. Since my post-retirement venture into writing and blogging, I had published over 300 articles and self-published three books in addition to "Keep Calm," but I was disappointed in my perceived lack of feedback and inability to grow my audience.

Larry tried to comfort me by sharing his pride in what I had accomplished, but to no avail. I reached out to a few close friends to share my hurt. One friend offered wise advice. "You put yourself behind the eight ball when you rely on others to make you feel successful," she wrote in late-night text. "If you can internalize your completing and following through on your passion, you are a success." I ignored her as well. Two recommended counseling. I told them I'd think about it.

Instead, my doubts spread to every major decision I had made in my life. I questioned every choice I had ever made: my college, my major, my career, my houses, my retirement, even the color I had painted the walls inside of my house. 

Outside of entries into my daily journal, I stopped writing. "I'm taking a break," I wrote to Laurie Clevenson, my editor at the Capital Region of New York's  Jewish World. "Are you okay?" she, who had become accustomed to a submission every two weeks for the past ten years, wrote back immediately.  I initially drafted a long explanation of my emotional state then deleted it. "I just need time off," I reiterated. "I want to enjoy my time in the mountains without deadlines."

I finally shared with Julie my crushing disappointment I had experienced when sales - and the resulting praise for my articles and my books - failed to meet up to my expectations. My daughter, as always, was compassionate and understanding. "I'm sorry I didn't provide the external validation you needed for your writing," she said.

WAIT! Wasn't that what my friend had referenced when she tried to console me in June? I went back to read over her text. "You also cannot make others feel obligated to stroke your ego," she had said, a comment that angered me at the time. "I have learned that it is unimportant what others think, you need to be proud of YOU."

For the first time in my life, I realized how much I had depended on external validation. This was not limited to my writing. Almost every aspect of my life, I had required the approval and thumbs-up from family, friends, and even strangers. Did I choose the right career path? Buy the right house? Wear the right clothes? Weigh the right amount on the bathroom scale? Choose the right doctor? Travel to the right places with the right cruise line/tour group or guide book? Plan our retirement the right way? My need for validation was obsessive, intrusive, and self-defeating. 

With this new insight, I finally began to heal. Walking outside, surrounded by mountains and aspens and waterfalls and creeks, I realized that I write because I simply love to write. I took pride in the fact that my articles had been published in media sources from as close as Orlando's Heritage Florida Jewish News and as far away as Australia. I was grateful for the time I had taken to interview, research, and write stories about Jewish Holocaust survivors so their sacrifice, strength, and survival can be recognized. And yes, I had gotten positive feedback from many readers, including my blog followers. Even though my books may never be on the New York Times best seller list, I have given my children and grandchildren a gift of my stories that will be my legacy. 

Moreover, I extended this new-found self-acceptance to other areas of my life. I chose not to focus on what Robert Frost called "The Road Not Taken," Instead, I took pride and joy in all the decisions I had made alone or with Larry that led us to the life we have now, which is filled with love, joy, thankfully good health, and happiness. Rather than depending on others to validate my choices, I decided to trust myself.

The weight I had been carrying for my whole life began to slide off my shoulders. As the poet e.e. cummings wrote, "Once we believe in ourselves, we can risk curiosity, wonder, spontaneous delight, or any experience that reveals the human spirit." Since the pandemic, my mantra had been "I am exactly where I need to be."  I now have added the following: "I am enough. I do enough. I have enough." And I don't need anyone but myself to affirm that fact. 

Marilyn Cohen Shapiro, a resident of Kissimmee, Fla., is a regular contributor to the (Capital Region N.Y.) Jewish World and the Orlando Heritage Florida Jewish News. She is the author of four books. All are available in paperback and e-book format on Amazon. Her blog is theregoesmyheart.me.