Sorry I'm Late
and other things I've been thinking over
My therapist keeps telling me about this concept of Differentiation. This idea that one day, after a million years of thinking you’re the same as everyone around you, you look up and realize that actually, it’s just you. It’s you here on this planet. You, making all your decisions, building your own world, and forging your own path.
Differentiation happens, in a similar sense, for babies about six months into life. I’m obsessed with this concept. It’s my latest deep dive topic that I can’t stop googling and reading about. They say that at six months, newborns start to recognize that they are separate beings from their mothers, that they are not having a singular experience, and that they are two sentient beings, no longer connected by one strong beating heart. It’s beautiful and scary, I assume, to look up at the person you just came from and realize that, actually, you have your own life to live now. That they might not feel everything the same way you do anymore.
Recently, I went home for two weeks and fell off the face of the earth. That explains my absence from here (a little), and I’m sorry I haven’t written in a minute. Maybe you noticed. Or maybe in this out-of-sight, out-of-mind, fast-paced, wacky world, you didn’t. Either way, I missed it here, I missed talking to you. I missed getting completely consumed by writing and the mechanics of it. I’m happy to be back on the horse. More to come about falling off it and the doubt, fear, and guilt that comes with it.
Anyway, while I was home, I was sorely reminded that within my family structure, we’re all changing, growing, and arranging our puzzle pieces differently. My sister is married, the other one is in college, my brother is at the precipice of a new chapter, and my parents, are grossly in love and embarking on their journeys together, without us all in their house every night. The time I spend with them is precious. But I’m aware that it’s a limited resource now. That it’s not always going to be there. That we are all, rightfully so, going to move in our own directions. What my hope is, is that we always find our way back home. That it makes us even closer, the idea that now we don’t HAVE to see each other, that instead, it’s just that we want to. It’s powerful, knowing that we still choose to stay, cuddled up on the couch together, whenever we have a free day.
So I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately—differentiation as a symptom of growth and growing up. I’ve been having a deep recognition that we are all building our own versions of the life we want to live, and admittedly, after being with family and getting a taste of what my life used to be, I feel nostalgic for a time when I thought my sister and I would drink out of the same juice box every day for the rest of our lives. For the times when I thought my cousins and I would willingly be at dinner together, serving each other rice and beans every winter, spring, summer, and fall. For the times that my dad would warm up the car for me on a cold winter morning while I insisted that I did not need a winter jacket.
In the midst of all this differentiation talk, I finished my book edits, finally, and MY TRAIN LEAVES AT THREE is now in the hands of so many people who aren’t me. My agent, Sabrina, who I love and wish everyone could experience, reminded me the other day that now more people have read my book who don’t know me personally than those who do. It was kind of shocking. I birthed this baby and now, there it is, going off to have a life of its own.
At the same time, I’m getting my lick back, for lack of a more literary term, and I’m starting the deep work on my second book. Coincidentally, or maybe not coincidentally, differentiation will be a major theme that I dive into in book #2.
In writing and in life I guess, I think you have to leave room for the new stuff—the new schedule, the new thoughts, the new questions. I think I have my work cut out for me—this second book will be, inherently, something completely different than my first. It feels more cerebral, less entrenched in my bones and blood for now. It will be brilliant (I think), but it will be so, completely, not MY TRAIN LEAVES AT THREE.
With this, I’ve had this insane realization that I’ll never get to write my first book again. I’ll never get to wake up at 5 am and hope to God that an editor sees me for what I want to be. Because this time around, they already have. And so I’m changing. I’m moving forward. I’m a singular, sentient being, eyes wide open, forging the next bit of my own little path.
ok okay, now that I’ve told you what I’m rewriting, it’s time for me to tell you a bit about what I’m…
(re) reading
Let Me Tell You What I Mean by Joan Didion
Lately, in our political and social atmosphere, I’ve been looking for evidence that we are going to all be okay. I’m not sure that LET ME TELL YOU WHAT I MEAN gives me that, but it does give me lots to chew on. lots to think about. Didion’s first essay in the collection sharply critiques journalistic styles, and forces you to dissect the stories being told by centering the perspective of the writer. They have more influence on us than we can imagine, and it made me acutely aware of our powers as writers — to shape the story. To keep the history. I can’t wait to keep reading.
The New York Times Best Books of The 21st Century
I’ve been obsessed with this list that the New York Times put out and challenging myself to read some backlist fiction from it. I also spent time voting on what I think some of the best books have been. My top five (for now) are:
This Thing!!!!!
Best of Friends by Kamila Shamsie
I’m writing book #2 and doing a LOT of research. This book was suggested to me by MY best friend and I’m loving it. Platonic relationships are so rarely looked at under a microscope. I’m excited to dive into those things in my next novel.
And of course, forever rereading MY TRAIN LEAVES AT THREE…
Here’s a photo of me reading my novel, bound by my team at WME, in Madison Square Park. Never gets old seeing my words on printed pages.
Okay, see you next week. I promise.
xx
Nat
Now this is who you are.