AMERICAN INDEPENDENCE UPDATE: NOW WHAT?

We all understand American Independence from a historical point of view.

“Freedom from the tyranny of taxation without representation.”

And other tyrannies? What about independence from other tyrannies?

Can we get freedom from self-imposed tyrannies? Personal tyranny?

If so, how? That’s the question, how?

You could read an essay for starters. It’s an Oregon-born essay with universal appeal.

Tabitha Blankenbiller got right to it from the start:

The first time I felt God, I was squashed into a Pacific University dorm room.

How did God find Forest Grove? The better question is, “Why not Forest Grove?”

Why not your town, your street, your room? It’s the same thing, but you’ve got to be available to feel God.

The writer shows, and tells, about a journey of hope, to despair, and back. Click the link on her name to see her page and you’ll find her book.

Yes, another writer with a book, but not quite the same. She brings John Steinbeck up to date with “Eats of Eden.”

From amazon:

Eats of Eden is a trip into the memory, into the stomach, and into the heart of every woman. These essays of tasty bites, writing, coming-of-age, family, sex, self-esteem—and above all, overcoming personal odds to live your best life—are complete with mouth-watering recipes and memories that will change your relationship with food forever. 

And more:

The foodoir follows a year of attempting to write a novel, and the daily life, occasional revelations and passions that feed, distract, complicate, and enrich that process—in the author’s case, constant detours into the kitchen.

Eat Up That Essay For More American Independence

From unknown to known is a long road to walk, and it’s walking, not riding because walking is slow enough to look around, to notice, to remember.

What’s it feel like to be a known writer? Don’t ask me. I was talking to a guy inside my local tap house and he knew things. Too many things. About me.

We’re talking and he’s definitely a stalker who is collecting my information. Turns out he reads this blog. Let me tell you the sense of relief I felt that he was a fan, not a maniac.

Nine years have passed since then and, unless you’re a friend gracious enough to check out this latest essay, you probably haven’t heard of me. My agent is still an imaginary friend. Vogue is only beating down my inbox to renew my lapsed subscription.

It’s not funny? Why do I think it’s funny? Because it’s the writer’s way, at least for this one. There’s a huge audience out there waiting for me to finish my book, waiting for each blog post, but they never show up.

My joke to myself to feel better is deciding there’s a lot of people who don’t know how to read. If they knew how to read, I’d be a high roller living a big life like other online stars.

Except I semi-freaked out the day I got 7000 hits on this blog for one post. Seven thousand hits? Now what? It was an older post about the fight or flight reaction on the statue of David’s penis. You’ve heard why David’s hand is so large?

Why stop there? Art is funny like that.

Caring Is Not Optional

How often do you start something and give up when it gets too hard? Or convince yourself you don’t really care enough to finish?

Doing anything is hard enough from start to finish. If you don’t finish you may fall prey to the life question of “How would things be different if you hadn’t quit, ‘Fill in the blank.'”

There’s no good answer, so why quit that thing you cared enough about to start? Whether it’s a book, a recipe, or a bird house made out of fence wood, finishing things take on a different schedule.

One benefit of American independence is knowing that there’s a process in getting to the finish line, no matter what Nike says about “There Is No Finish Line.” Yes, there is, but it’s never what’s expected.

I sat with questions I wouldn’t have admitted before for fear of cursing myself: What if I never write another book? What if I only create what I want, when I feel compelled, for no other reason than I have something I have to say?

Tabitha Blankenbiller has plenty to say, and I’m glad to find out more. The last paragraph in her essay is a stunning statement of hope that reminded me of the last words in The Great Gatsby.

You’ll be glad too, whether you’re reading this in Tiajim, China, or Bengaluru, India, or Des Moines, Iowa.

Or Tigard, Oregon.

Hey, Tigard.