In 2014, I lost my grandmother and my beloved cats, Smokey and Beulah, within nine months. That same year, I made the painful decision to cut ties with my mother. My grandmother was a second mother to me. Smokey and Beulah comforted me and allowed me to care for them when I learned I’d remain childless in this lifetime.

So, there I was, forty, out of the workforce due to Lyme disease, motherless, and without anyone to mother.

Three days after Smokey’s death, I sobbed in my therapist’s office, overwhelmed by my emptiness.

She patted my arm and said, “You don’t have to suffer. Go get more cats.”

Because I trusted her, I dragged my husband to the SPCA. A few hours later, we left with Foxy and Miss Kitten.

While I still grieved and felt miserably ill, their presence served as an important reminder: Joy and heartache can coexist.

Grief and Joy are Not Opposites

In times of darkness, allowing yourself to experience lightness and embracing joy is a radical act. It says: I may hurt, but I will not be broken.

I was reminded of this yet again when I learned that my colleague Susan DeFreitasrecently passed away after a yearlong battle with cancer.

Susan dedicated her life to stories—especially those centered on social and climate justice. Her novel, Hot Season, about climate activists pursued by the FBI, won a Gold IPPY Award. She helped countless writers bring their books into the world.

I met Susan in 2023 when we were in a mastermind together. I admired her sense of adventure, fire, and passion. She knew exactly what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to go after it. Plus, she was such a great writer and writing instructor.

Susan largely endured her health crisis privately, hoping to protect her business. In December, she finally shared the extent of her struggles, which included rounds of chemotherapy and radiation, the loss of an eye, and brain surgery. Despite her health challenges, Susan found joy in everyday moments. She hiked with her husband and young son, soaked in Charleston’s transition from spring to summer, and, after walking through the snow post-brain surgery, wrote:

“I feel like I’m alive on the first morning of the world. What a gift.”

I hope you’ll read her inspiring essay, “Wanting Only To Be Heard—The Emerging Author as Woman,” her novel, and her many posts for Jane Friedman.

A Simple Way to Find Your Joy: O.A.R.

During an intensive breathwork session just before learning of Susan’s death, an acronym came to me:

Open to what’s around you.
Accept reality.
Receive abundantly.

When we open to what’s around us, we become willing to pay attention to the delightful, the challenging, and everything in between.

Accepting reality doesn’t mean liking or agreeing with it. Rather, it’s making peace with what is rather than resisting it.

Receiving abundantly is about saying yes to the good available to you, and allowing yourself to feel like you’re “alive on the first morning of the world.”

Writing Prompts to Embrace the Radical Act of Living

As you connect with your joy, let it fill your tank so you can apply this lens to your writing projects by trying the following exercises:

Find something new: Open a photo album. Select the first photo that catches your eye. Look for something you’ve never seen in this photo. Write about it.
Re-envision a scene: List ten emotions you rarely use in your writing. Write each emotion on a slip of paper and toss it into a mason jar. Choose one emotion. Rewrite a scene from your work in progress that incorporates that emotion.
Try this scavenger hunt: Go to your local library’s poetry section. Pick the first book that catches your eye. Go to the tenth page. Write the seventh line in your notebook. Start writing. Repeat this exercise with two more books and see what you discover.

Honor Your Life, Honor Your Words

This week, I invite you to do something that feels good for the sake of doing it, not because it’s productive, not because it’s necessary, but because it nourishes you:

Doodle.
Write a poem.
Experiment with a new spice.
Notice the shape of the clouds.
Laugh with complete abandon.

If you don’t feel like doing it for yourself, do it in honor of Susan.

For when we live fully, we can always—always—write on.

Warmly,

Love what you just read?

Get my weekly posts delivered to your inbox. As a special bonus, I’ll send you a FREE copy of my ebook, Write More, Fret Less: The Toolkit for Gaslight Proofing Your Writing Life.

I’d love a copy of Write More, Fret Less