When I made it to the other beach, I looked back across the bay at my trek. It wasn’t as hard as it looked the first time I’d come out here.
The first time I’d stared across the divide, I’d thought of dangerous wakes left behind from the large ships that used the pass, strong currents, and the fear of the unknown wild creatures beneath the water. Today, I’d seen an adventure.
My future was no different than this trek across the open water had been. Yeah, I might get caught in a riptide every once and a while … But I was smart. I prepared for storms. I had my gear, my life preserver, my boat …
If life threw me a curveball, I was ready. If my book bombed, I’d sell the house. I needed to start living my life as though I had no worries.
After all, what else was there to worry about?
Chapter 11 – The “D” Word
Goals: I printed neatly at the top of the first page of my new leather-bound journal. For several long minutes, I stared at the one tiny word that demanded so much of me.
A minute later, I ripped out the page.
Dreams: I wrote on the new first page of my journal. Sighing broodingly, I stared at the word. What was my dream?
J’Austen jumped up beside me and burrowed her head beneath my right hand. I offered her a scratch behind her ear and she immediately began to purr.
“What do I want, baby kitty? Why do I feel so blah?”
J’Austen pressed her paws up and down on my knee as I scratched her. I dropped the pen and scooped her up into my arms.
In the last six months, I’d been so busy writing, editing, and publishing that I hadn’t realized how lonely I was. I’d managed to fill every minute of my time writing three books. After the first one, the ideas just kept coming. I was able to write a book in less than two months. Editing, on the other hand, had taken much longer. Angela and I had gone back and forth a hundred times.
Even though I would have loved a man’s point of view, too, Seth had been unavailable. Not only had he followed his daughter to New York, where she was going to college, but he’d been picked up by an agent. Truly, I should be proud that I had such a good eye. Seth had submitted his manuscript to twenty agents and had received three offers of representation. But, he would also have to wait close to eighteen months before his manuscript saw the light of day.
As much as I wanted to try my hand at submitting to an agent, especially after I discovered all that was involved with launching a book, I really didn’t want to sell my house, so I needed money — STAT.
Back to the library, I went, reading up on everything about self-publishing. Luckily, I had Mak, and my website offered me a platform of some sort. I made sure that all my readers knew that the series was written by me, though, and for the first time ever, I didn’t add a star rating for the book I posted. Just a note why they should read this new book, as I always offered.
The response was amazing, and in no time, I had readers writing reviews for my book.
Then came the marketing. Ugh! Why didn’t anyone tell me about that part?
But I pressed on …
After I’d uploaded the third in the series, I allowed Amazon to offer the first book free, and the turnout was amazing. I gave away fifty-three thousand books in three days, but there were still more readers. Within hours of the book reverting to its full price, it hit the top one hundred of all paid books on Amazon. Within days, the first book in the collection was sitting next to a book by Nicholas Sparks — while the adaptation of his book was playing in the theaters. And after several days, the book hit number one on the romantic-suspense bestseller list.
So the question begs to be answered … Why am I suddenly depressed?
I’d managed the last nine months without having a nervous breakdown or even having to resort to prescription anti-depressants, but now I broke down and cried during Hallmark commercials.
Frustrated, I set down J’Austen and headed to my room. I hadn’t gone to my self-defense class in weeks.
I’d found the instructor because he’d offered a free class in honor of two area women who’d been victims of domestic violence. Not that my ex-husband had ever laid a finger on me, but Eric was right, there were some scary people out there. I’d wanted to get in more exercise, so I decided, Why not learn how to defend myself at the same time?
After the initial classes, since I’d finally started making money, I’d signed up for Krav Maga, a self-defense style that the Israel Defense Forces had developed. What interested me was how Krav Maga incorporated combinations of wrestling and boxing, as well as other types of martial arts like judo for a realistic approach to training that focused on real-life situations and proficient counterattacks.
I arrived late, but I hung out in the back, hoping not to catch Steve’s eye. He liked to call people out.
Thankfully, he’d held off on embarrassing me for not only being late, but also for not showing up lately. After the class had finished, I turned to leave, deciding I’d just use the elliptical and do a few squats to burn off some steam.
“Jana!” Steve called over the heads of the other people who probably showed up on a regular basis — and on time.
I stopped my retreat, waiting for the verbal lashing about how martial arts was about self-discipline.
Steve stopped in front of me and smiled. “Hello, Jana. I haven’t seen you in a while. Do you have a moment? I’d like to show you a couple of moves you’ve missed.”
I stared at the seventy-something-old Asian man who had a better physique than most twenty-year-olds. “Oh, thank you, Steve, but I realize the class is over. I’ll just do some cardio, and I promise I won’t be late next week.”
He waved his hand. “Nonsense. I have nothing pressing, and I don’t want you to fall behind. I’ll show you the moves and you can practice them for next week.”
I dropped my head. “I’m tired, Steve.” I stared at the floor, hoping a trap door would open up, swallowing me whole. Not to escape Steve, though … to escape my tired life.
Steve walked toward the other side of the room, motioning for me to follow him.
He stopped beside the dark blue punching bag that hung from the ceiling, then turned to me. “Why are you here?” he asked, his face and speech taking on his training demeanor. He was so soft-spoken in normal conversation, but when he trained, he had the sternness of a drill sergeant.
I sighed as my eyes met his. “To get stronger.”
“Why?” he demanded.
At his severe tone, I stood straighter. I felt pathetic and powerless against the world, and I didn’t want to be that woman. “Because I don’t want to be weak,” I groaned.
“Why?” he asked again.
Tears filled my eyes, and without warning, I cried out, “Because I don’t want to be afraid.”
He punched the bag beside him, making me sidestep. But he just drilled his gaze at me. “Afraid of what?”
I gasped in a breath as I tried to control my tears. “Every … thing,” I sputtered.
He pushed the bag toward me, then stepped back. “Then let me see you.”
I assumed my fighting stance, struck my fist forward, and gave my best warrior Kiai!
“Again. Harder.”
I released another strike, followed by a roundhouse kick.
“Face your fear,” Steve shouted.
I felt the fear that lived inside of me as though it were a living and breathing entity gnawing on my heart, a weighty beast that had curled up inside of my stomach, weighing me down.
But I couldn’t visualize my fear. It wasn’t Dick cheating on me. It wasn’t my failed marriage. It wasn’t my horrible childhood. It wasn’t even a fear of not having enough money to pay the bills.
I knew what my fear was; I just didn’t want to admit it, and I didn’t want to spend one more minute of my life wallowing in my grief or being afraid. I needed to face my fear once and for all.
“I hate you! I hate you!” I screamed, punching the bag as Steve held it steady.
“Loneliness!” I cried. “I don’t want to be afraid to be alone!”
Chapter 12 – You Don’t Need A Man.
The day after my watershed moment, I got to work. No way was I going to be afraid of being alone. I would learn to love myself and enjoy life by myself — without a man.
I didn’t need a man. I had Seth. Yes, it was odd that I’d named my toy after a man that I’d never gone out with, let alone slept with. But even though Seth hadn’t made a play for me, he was one hot man, so who better to think about? I had my toys in the garage too, and I planned to use them.
Angela needed my help too, if only to give her one day a week when she didn’t have to change diapers, clean up spit-up, or listen to the ABC song a hundred and one times. She’d been there for me when I was at my worst, so I owed it to her to be there for her while she was trying to take care of two babies while her husband was out of town on business.
Surfing the web, I found several kayak clubs. The pictures on the site indicated that they took trips all around the globe, and I planned to join them. Obviously, I couldn’t go for long periods, only day trips for now. But Eric had his driver’s license — as well as a new truck, courtesy of Dick Embers — so I had plenty of time during the day.
At least once a week, I made sure I took a day to go do something worth writing about, and it showed in my writing.
But I wanted more … I wanted a rush.
After every great adventure, I wrote about it in my journal, determined to share it somewhere.
But it still wasn’t enough. I’d been held back for so long that I felt like all the adrenaline inside of me would explode if I didn’t get it out.
***
I stared up at the “Extreme Motorsports” sign and smiled. That’s what I wanted, something extreme, exciting, maybe even a tad dangerous.
As I walked through the store, my hand grazed the motorcycles, dirt bikes, Jet Skis, and mountain bikes. I glanced around at the individual salesmen, either sitting behind their desks, typing on the computer, or just staring out the window.
I sighed. Every time I went shopping, it was the same old thing. If Dick walked into a furniture store, the salesmen dropped their donuts to assist him. Of course, Dick looked like he had money. Even when we hadn’t, he still managed to have a certain air about him, which I now viewed as pompous.
Me, I was dressed in my standard jeans and a T-shirt, my hair pulled back in a ponytail. Yeah, after a quick glance at my left hand, men had no problem asking me out, but getting waited on was another story altogether.
I rested my hands on my hips and just stared at one guy until he had to acknowledge me.
Reluctantly, he pocketed his phone and dragged his feet across the floor. “Looking for something?”
“Yes, please,” I said, pointing to a sleek red-and-white WaveRunner. “What type of financing do you have on that?”
The salesman turned to the Yamaha brand watercraft and flipped the placard over repeatedly in his hands, as though whatever was written on it might change. He sucked on his teeth. “I think it might have 5.9% financing.”
I resisted rolling my eyes. “When I looked on the Internet, I read something about 2.9%. Could you check, and also let me know the best price out the door, including tax and any registration fees?”
The man sniffed. “Yeah, I think you’re right about the 2.9%. You wanna bring your husband in and we can get y’all a deal?”
I sighed. “Boy, did you just lose the fastest deal ever.” I turned and walked out the door. There were several other stores in Pinellas County. I’d keep looking until I found one that knew how to treat a woman.
Twenty minutes later, I was standing in front of another salesman, a salesman who approached me as soon as I walked in the door, telling me to wave when I was ready for help. I walked right over to the exact same WaveRunner I’d seen in the other store and made the same request.
One hour later, I had a new WaveRunner hooked to the back of my truck. A couple miles down the road, I headed into the outdoor store where Dick had bought the sea kayak.
I wanted more …
I signed Eric and myself up for a whitewater rafting trip, something I’d wanted to do my entire life. If he didn’t want to go, I’d go by myself.
***
Which I ended up doing just that …
Mark, the whitewater guide assigned to our group, held my hand as I lowered myself into the Ducky, as he’d called it. I’d paid to go on the whitewater raft, but as soon as I saw the individual whitewater kayak rafts, I knew this was my chance to release some more adrenaline. A chance to hit the rapids on my own, without relying on someone else to paddle.
After each rapid, I rejoiced. The fear of death actually made me feel alive. Not that the Nantahala River was dangerous in comparison to other rivers I’d researched, but I’d heard there’d been a couple of deaths caused by paddlers getting their feet pinned beneath rocks after their boats had capsized.
Well, I just wouldn’t tip over, that was all there was to it.
The crisp fall day was sunny, so even though the water was freezing, it felt good. I inhaled the sweet rotting smell of the fallen leaves as I soared down the crystal clear whitewater. The guide had told me to slow down, but I was on a high. After each rapid, I couldn’t wait to get to the next one. I’d spent my life staring at the flat waters in Florida … I wanted the rapids. I also wanted a boat like the bright green one that Mark was paddling.
Several times after we’d rolled over the rapids, he’d moved into a “hole” as he’d called it, and surfed the waves. He’d actually been able to paddle upstream without moving forward or backward. Instead, it looked as though he were surfing.
Once when his boat had flipped, I’d gasped, but in seconds he’d popped upright.
My wetsuit folded down over my shorts, I ran to catch up with the whitewater guide. “How did you learn to do that?”
Mark cocked his head and smiled. “Learn how to do what?”
“Turn the kayak over like you did.”
“Oh, rolling it? My boss. He taught me how to kayak years ago. I’d started in sales at the outdoor store, but I wanted to be a guide. He made me roll a kayak over and over until I had it down, said he wouldn’t take me into whitewater until I learned. We spent hours on Lake Nantahala.”
“Is that something most rafting stores offer lessons on?”
“Usually … if they have a pool or lake nearby.”
I smiled. “Thanks, Mark!” I trotted off toward my car.
“Hey,” he called, and I turned back to listen to him, “we’re all going to Cherokee tonight. You’re welcome to come.”
“Sounds like fun,” I said, and then darted off again. It did sound like fun, but I had some writing to do. One adventure at a time.
While on the water today, I’d realized what I really had to write. My writing wasn’t about money anymore … although it was nice to be able to pay the bills.
***
Eighteen months to the day after I’d kicked out my husband, I had an epiphany: I didn’t need a man.
Sure, I might want to date and fall in love again someday, but I didn’t need to. And it was nothing short of amazing how much more attractive I was to the opposite sex after I wasn’t interested in them anymore. Just like Mark the whitewater guide. The man was friendly and cute, and must see a hundred good-looking college girls a week, and yet, he’d asked me to join him and his friends in Cherokee. I hadn’t heard him invite anyone else.
But I didn’t have time to date. Dating was messy. I needed time to write.
Once again, every minute of my life, other than the time I set aside to spend with Eric, was dedicated to writing a new book. Eric would head off to college in a few months, so I had to force that time. But every other minute of the day and night, even while I was sleeping, I concentrated on my story.
All of a sudden, I felt as tho
ugh I were writing a self-help book. Me, the woman who’d been unlucky in love. Me, the woman who’d finally made it on her own, but then fell into a bout of depression.
That was okay, though … I’d learned that luck was relative. What I originally thought was bad luck had been an eye-opener. In the last eighteen months, I’d learned to really live. And more importantly, I’d learned to love myself. The woman who’d been unlucky in love had finally found someone to love her who’d never leave her: herself.
I’d learned what I needed to learn, so even if no other person felt the way I did, at least writing out my thoughts had been therapeutic. And who knew, maybe I’d touch someone with my words, and that was all that mattered.
Once again, my same tattered folder bound together close to four hundred pages of my ramblings. Only this time, it wasn’t a romantic-suspense novel where the hero rode off with the heroine; it was a collection of stupid mistakes made by the female protagonist … and all the other characters who’d been a part of her life.
It was a novel, but it was more than that. It was a journey of one woman’s survival through her unconventional — bordering on abusive — childhood, her unloving marriage, and her unrelenting determination to learn to love herself. The narrative wasn’t meant to induce pity, though. Hopefully, the story prompted laugh-out-loud moments and at other times a box-of-tissues crying jags.
I dropped the folder on the table and collapsed into the chair closest to the door.
Angela stared at it as if it might burst into flames. “It’s finished?”
I blew out a breath. “It’s finished. Well, until you attack it with your bright red pen.”
Angela bounced her youngest on her hip as she ran her long fingers through my hair. “You look exhausted. Are you sure you should be going kayaking?”
Some Lucky Woman Page 8