Yes or No? The Struggle is Real

I almost said no.

I’ve become good at saying no. No, I’m sorry. I can’t come to your classroom and talk to the kids about being a writer. I can’t speak at your women’s group. I’d love to talk to your book club, but I can’t.

It’s not a fear of public speaking. That fear flew out the window with my first taste of high school theater. 

It’s the fear of exhaustion. Living with a chronic lung disease will do that to a person. You learn to guard and schedule your days like you would for a toddler. Sorry, that’s my nap time. I won’t make it through the day otherwise. Or No, I’ll be up too late. I’ll be ill the next day. Not worth it. Besides, I’m subject to coughing fits if I talk a lot.

I don’t say all this, of course. It sounds too pathetic. I just say no. Or I might drop a hint about physical limitation that sounds lame even to myself. After all, I walk a half hour every day. I hold down a job. I look fine. What’s the deal?

I’m filled with angst if I say yes and riddled with guilt if I say no. Guilt, because I’ve been given so much, and we’re supposed to take what we’re given and pass it on to others. 

So when I’m invited to lead a writing workshop with the Country Quills group which meets in the TigerHills Art Gallery in Holland, I almost say no. But guilt wins out for a change, and I agree to come. And immediately ask myself what on earth I’ve done. Spend several hours prepping for it, still grappling. Then the event is postponed due to a storm, and I spend another month anxious about how I will manage to be “on” for the duration of a four-hour workshop, plus drive an hour each way. Spend another Saturday reviewing my preps from a month earlier because my old brain hasn’t retained it.

And somewhere in the middle of that Saturday, I finally begin to realize I feel far more concern for myself than for the people I am going to serve. Had I bothered to ask God what they might need from me? How I could best encourage them? I hadn’t. 

I ask his forgiveness and try to shift my focus. Before I hunker down for my nap, I read a portion of AnnVoskamp’s book, The Broken Way. She quotes Auschwitz survivor Viktor Frankl, who said meaning comes when one does something that “points, and is directed to, something, or someone, other than oneself…by giving himself to a cause to serve, or another person to love.” She says, “maybe that’s how you peel back everything that distracts and cheapens and derails a life—transcend this life by giving yourself for someone else.”

Sunday morning, I drive to Holland with an adjusted attitude, trusting God to increase my stamina and decrease my cough. 

And I meet some wonderful writers. I share with them my journey and hear a bit of theirs. Pass on some of what I’m learning. Listen to them read their brilliant words. And begin to hear things like, “This has been so helpful! Thank you for coming!”

Yes, I arrive home exhausted. But the good kind of exhausted, the kind that comes when you’ve spent yourself with passion and seen others gain from it. Voskamp says, “The abundant life doesn’t have a bucket list so much as it has an empty bucket—the givenness of pouring out.”

And I find myself hoping for another opportunity to say yes.

Here's to Administrative Professionals

Got these beauties from Diane

Wednesday, April 25 was Administrative Professionals Day. Some still call it Secretary’s Day. Some call it Administrative Assistant’s Day. And some call it “The Only One Around Here Who Knows What the Heck is Going On” Day. 

You might think that, being an Administrative Assistant myself, I’d be too modest to crow about the work we do. You’d be wrong.

If everyone had an Administrative Assistant, the world would be a more organized, efficient, and happy place. You wouldn’t lose your keys, your phone, or your glasses so often. You could put your hands on that tax receipt a lot more quickly. Your bills would get paid on time, your paperwork neatly filed, your phone politely answered. Your letters would look awesome and your appointment calendar would always be up to date. You wouldn’t miss meetings or birthdays or Administrative Professionals Day. 

Of course, I’m referring to the really good administrative assistants. The good ones are competent and excellent communicators. They’re organized, detail-oriented, and masters at time management. They’re tech savvy. They maintain a professional attitude and appearance. They know how to deal with office politics and confidentiality. They possess good judgement and are team players. You know those clichéd movie scenes where the executive and the assistant charge down long hallways on their way to the next meeting, high heels tapping out a staccato beat, and the entire time the assistant rattles off phone messages, appointment reminders, or has the exec sign papers on the run? Do these assistants exist in real life?

Me, I lean toward mediocre. I make lots of dumb mistakes. Oh, I can eventually answer a question or find what someone is looking for. I just can’t do it before giving them a long, blank stare and muttering something unintelligible while, somewhere in the far recesses of my brain, gears shift with all the swiftness of a sloth. 

I blame my advanced age. The fuller your memory bank, the longer it takes new thoughts to upload.

Look how they've opened!

They keep me around because they think I’m a famous author. They probably think that because I tell them I’m a famous author. And I’m seeing a pattern. When I’m introduced to a new staff member or a visitor to the office, I’m more likely to hear, “This is Terrie. She’s a famous author.” The new person walks away wondering why they’ve never heard of me and with no clue why I’m sitting at a desk at city hall.

At my writing desk at home, I am my own administrative assistant. Which means that in addition to penning books and these riveting blog posts, I must take care of the business end of things. Emailing my newspaper column on time every week; connecting with readers through newsletters, email, and social media; submitting invoices and paying bills; keeping track of income and expenses; designing and ordering business cards; organizing book launches; entering writing contests; planning trips to conferences; maintaining my book inventory, and more. Some writers hire “virtual assistants” who take care of these details from afar. I’d go broke if I had to hire me. A good administrative assistant is worth their weight in bitcoin.

  

So Happy Administrative Professionals Day to all my peers! And to all you bosses who may have forgotten? You’re welcome.

Much Ado

Maybe you love Shakespeare. Or maybe, like me, you pretend to like Shakespeare in order to appear cultured and cool. Either way, you won’t want to miss the Prairie Players’ production of Much Ado About Nothing under the direction of Lisa Marie Tessier-Burch. I sat in on a recent rehearsal in order to provide you with a bit of a “trailer.”

When it comes to Shakespeare, I don’t believe in spoiler alerts. Given the complications of language, multiple characters with strange names, masquerades, misunderstandings, and downright deceits, the more you know about the play ahead of time, the more you’ll enjoy it. Case in point: did you know the word “nothing” in the title is a play on words? In Elizabethan English, “nothing” sounds much like “noting,” which meant gossip, overhearing, and eavesdropping—all actions around which the plot twists. We miss out on so much because we don’t clue in to these clever details.

For a comedy, Much Ado is pretty intense. Two love stories are intertwined. One follows the formal, romantic relationship between Claudio (Reid Noton) and Hero (Haley L’Heureux). The other couple, Benedick (Fabien de Freitas) and Beatrice (Laurel Giesbrecht), work hard to give the impression neither is interested in the other. They tease and insult one another mercilessly and deny they will ever marry anyone. The Bard gives them both some fabulous lines. Benedick: “When I said I would die a bachelor, I did not think I should live till I were married.” And Beatrice: “I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow, than a man swear he loves me.”

But their friends arrange for them to overhear conversations revealing how much each is loved by the other. I guess there’s something about believing you are the object of unrequited love that softens the heart.

Meanwhile, the overthrown villain Don John (Christopher Kitchen) carries out serious mischief against his brother Don Pedro (Jordan Thiessen) and Claudio, who helped defeat him. One of John’s men enacts a scene at Hero’s window in which a woman who appears to be Hero succumbs to the amorous attentions of a man other than Claudio. (You still with me?) John further arranges for Claudio and Don Pedro to observe this scene. As a result of seeing this apparent deception, Claudio angrily denounces Hero during their wedding ceremony and, with Don Pedro, storms off as the deceived husband-to-be. 

The friar performing the ceremony (Jocelyn Lequier-Jobin) comforts Hero and arranges for her to be hidden as though dead, until Claudio regains his senses. (Hey, that plot device worked out all right in Romeo and Juliet, why not try it again?) Beatrice’s defense of Hero after her denouncement unites Beatrice and Benedick in the cause of Hero’s revenge, and they declare their love for one another.

In the meantime, Dogberry (a comically bumbling constable played by Adena MacLaren) and company stumble on the conspiracy against Don Pedro and arrest John’s men, who confess their guilt under questioning.

Soon Claudio is forced to admit his error in thinking Hero would deceive him and, believing her dead, mourns for her and agrees to marry one of her cousins. The “cousin” turns out to be a disguised and forgiving Hero. Beatrice and Benedick are also to be married. Don John tries to run off, but is recaptured. All’s well that ends well. Oh, wait. That’s another play for another day.

Rounding out the cast are Fran Myles, Rachael Clarke, Kelvin Bueckert, Lynn Grant, Avery Griffith, Lisa Voth, Krista Austin, and Ron Weir.

Love him or not, you can’t argue the Bard was brilliant. Come watch this lively performance and cheer on our talented local actors on April 26, 27, or 28 at the William GlesbyCentre. Show time is 7:30. Tickets are $15 and can be ordered online from the Glesby website, at the box office at 204-239-4848, or at the door.