A few months ago Chris Johnson asked me to record a podcast episode with him, and we scheduled it for a Monday afternoon. The three days leading up to that Monday, I took a writing retreat with one of my favorite authors online. So then I also parented, folded laundry, watched 9-year-old basketball games, and connected with friends in the moments in between writing sessions. During the writing time, I dove into and trudged through editing a thick, long, and heavy personal essay. You can imagine, then, when I came on Zoom to record the podcast, I was tired.
Chris, being good at noticing, could tell, and asked if I wanted to reschedule. I closed my eyes, checked in with my body, opened my eyes, and said, "No. If we had to record while jogging around the lake, I'd reschedule, but this is the kind of tired that will probably support me speaking my truth. My body is tired, but I have my words." I felt tender. A little raw. Soft. Like I didn't have the energy to perform, which would be an asset in honest conversation. He was going to get me without any armor. I trusted him, he trusted me, and we proceeded to what became a remarkably lovely conversation where I put words to some of the things I believe in most.
I rarely listen to myself on podcasts after they have been recorded, but when this one dropped, I listened. Notorious for being a fast talker, I marveled at the slow pacing of my words. I took my time finding what I wanted to share, and I took my time attaching words to feelings and ideas. I can hear softness and tenderness in my voice. Chris asked questions I had not been asked before, so I had no rote, prepared, and practiced answers. I wasn't trying to win anyone over or convince anyone to purchase one of my books. We were just practicing the art of conversation. You can hear me meandering through and excavating deeper to find what rings true for me.
For me, a highlight was about halfway through the conversation when Chris asked me what the through line is for my five books. Historically, I have struggled with this. Someone will walk up to a table with my books on it and say, "What do we have here? What do you write about?" There is no quick answer. Chris' question and my meandering got edited out, but you can hear where I landed, which is, "I write books about getting free." I am interested in how things like privilege, trauma, and oppression restrict our freedom, and what role narrative plays in us getting a little more free together.
There were so many times in this taping when I closed my eyes, took a breath, and allowed my exhales to take me under the surface. The writing retreat leading up to the taping had prepared my inner landscape to be soft and supple, and it was moving for me to listen to my own voice outside my head speaking truth back to me as a reminder that gentleness can often achieve what force fails to.