I am no longer my own obstacle

Thank you all sooo much for your celebration and support during the launch of Wide Open! 🙏 There have already been 4 (yes four!) versions that have gone to print! 😄 No, it was not some publicity stunt to allow me to say “I’m a fourth-edition published author.” 😉 The story goes, in an attempt to correct a spelling mistake in the description, the cover photo became compromised for a day or two. I realized it when I saw my first pop-up ad on an exercise site – a portion of my author’s pic had somehow become super-imposed on one of the mountains! (There’s some kind of metaphor here I’m sure – maybe WE become our own obstacles..? Or something… 😅) But now the mountain is a mountain again, and the description correctly reads as follows:

 

“In this moving memoir and vivid travelogue, the reader is invited to journey alongside the author as she navigates a serendipitous pilgrimage to and through the Camino Portugués to Santiago. An intimate account of personal transformation, this is a story of what is possible when one walks their path with an open heart.”

 

If that sparks your interest in any way, it is still/now/will always be available in its final form on Amazon. And if you were one of the lucky few that ordered your book during the time my arm became a blurry ink-blot on a mountain, well – you’ve got yourself a collector’s item! Congrats to you too. LOL!

 

Thanks again and happy reading!

IT’S HERE! “Wide Open” is Now Available!

It’s FINALLY ready!

Get Wide Open, A Moving Experience on the Camino Portugués to Santiago NOW!

In Canada, Check it out on Amazon.ca

In the U.S. Check it out on Amazon.com

I really do hope you enjoy it. And, if you order now, you may even be able to get it in time for Christmas! (It would make a great gift if you ask me.) 🙂  In any case, Bom Camino!

“The writing of this book was a pilgrimage in and of itself.”

-Me

Cover and Design by Kerri-lynn Wilkinson

Editor: Danielle Loewen

Peace.

 

Wide Open Podcast Interview

Hello. It’s been a while. 🙂

It’s close now, the book release.

Hear all about the process on Keith Macpherson’s podcast, “Let’s Connect: Leslee Watt on Peak Experiences”

If you’d like to pre-order a copy of my book, as Keith so graciously suggests, e-mail me at lesleewatt.wideopen@gmail.com

 

The end is nearing…

Or is it the beginning?

The Last Many Months

Late summer 2016…I am reminded that the parents of a long-time friend of mine are professional writers/editors. They graciously accept my request to edit my manuscript.

A week before they return it (the old fashioned way – on paper, which I appreciate) my Gramma, my mom’s mom, surprises us by deciding to let go and passes away during minimally invasive surgery. She was 89. On my way to the hospital, to which I have forgotten the way, I have a panic attack in my car. I actually feel myself leave my body. I get dizzy. Sweaty. I go temporarily blind. Briefly, everything goes black but luckily I had put that long-time friend of mine on speaker phone and she talks me back into my body. Guides me to the hospital, magically, from her remote location.

The next day, I find out that the day before – the same day my Gramma died – another woman in my extended family…a woman I had promised I would help care for into her old age, had also decided to leave us. I have my second anxiety attack in less than 24 hours. This time, I can actually feel the shock electrocute my brain. Something feels fried. I phone my long-time friend again, this time screaming, panicking, not breathing.  She tells me to get my feet on the floor. To get my head between my knees. My whole body convulses. My brain goes off-line.  So this is what it feels like to lose control.

For the next few weeks I am a zombie. I feel dulled. A lot like what I would imagine post-concussion syndrome to feel like. Images of Jack Nicholson at the end of One Flew Over a Cuckoo’s Nest come to mind. We postpone my Gramma’s funeral indefinitely because I am so out to lunch that I cannot participate in its planning. I can’t focus enough to read. I can barely work. I can’t even bring myself to listen to music. I certainly cannot edit my book.

I feel like my life has been burned down.  It conjures images of the black, lifeless lava fields in Hawaii. Scorched earth. Everything just looks so…different. My first optimistic thought in weeks reminds me that from ash grows the lushest vegetation. Phoenix rising shit. So, I decide to go there. I book a trip to Maui, alone, and rent a hut in the middle of the jungle, hoping that some solitude will spur me to finally edit my book.

Then, 2 weeks before I leave, my Granny, my dad’s mom, passes away. She was 98.

I board the plane without my manuscript. I can barely make sense of the seat number on my ticket, never mind make decisions about syntax and grammar.

I am absolutely exhausted. I try my best to enjoy the island but I am profoundly fatigued, still off-line, and very, very lonely. I cry a little, alone, in the jungle, but not nearly enough.

I come home and find out I am anemic. At lease there is some small explanation. The medication makes me nauseous but I desperately want to feel better so I take it anyways.

I lay on the floor of my new apartment and meditate for hours a day. It’s the only thing I have the energy to do. And slowly…slowly I start to feel better.

Miraculously, I find the motivation to start a 12 week program called The Artist’s Way – it is designed to “recover creativity”.  To unblock the writer. To get me back online. And, 3 weeks in, it seems to be working. I’m writing you this blog post, aren’t I?

Stay tuned.

Love, Love, Love. XOXO

While you are waiting…

I make reference to a number of books in Wide Open – unlikely books that inspired me to to walk the Camino Portugues, books that contain quotes to support my experience, and yes, even books on quantum physics that provide unexpected back up. I thought I’d provide you with a reading list of these books, along with a brief explanation, just in case you wanted to read them…you know, while you are waiting for my side of the story:

My Stroke of Insight by neuroscientist Jill Bolte Taylor, who was able to consciously experience her own stroke. The infarct ended up impairing the entire left side of her brain and though it forced her to undergo a long difficult period of rehabilitation, she was incredibly grateful for the experience. She explains that without the analytical, scientific, intellectual hemisphere of her brain intact, the spiritual, expansive, love-driven side of her brain (the right hemisphere) could dominate. She describes perceiving an absence of physical boundaries, ‘like a genie liberated from a bottle’, a sense of glorious bliss, sweet tranquility, silent euphoria and unforgettable peace. After her stroke she was unable to experience separation or individuality and could feel herself as whole, beautiful and perfect. She also stipulates that this state of consciousness is available to all of us (without the need for a stroke) if we simply choose to favor right-brained endeavors over left. I want my whole life to be a right-brained experience. *Check out her TED Talk for a Coles Notes version!

The Devil on Her Tongue by Linda Holeman: a historical fiction novel about eighteenth century Portugal written by a Winnipeg-born author. As the author describes the country, the landscape and even the characters, it felt as if I have already been there – like I am remembering it from another lifetime.  And it desperately made me want to go back.

The Field by Lynne McTaggart, explains a concept in quantum physics called the Zero Point Field: because there is no such thing as a vacuum, or nothingness, we must assume that there is a giant reservoir of subatomic energy constantly interacting with matter. This energy is what would be left if everything else was taken away. It is described as a free and boundless energy, unable to pollute anything. Geez, man, sounds like Love to me.

And then there’s A Pilgrim’s Guide to the Camino Portugues by John Brierley. No explanation needed.

And of course, as previously mentioned, The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry by Rachel Joyce.

Happy reading.

Writing Retreat

Day 1

I’ve arrived during the twenty-fourth hour of a power outage, I am told. That explains the hydro trucks cluttering the road to the lakeside retreat I’ve reserved for the long weekend. First, I worry about refrigeration but then I realize there is a more pressing issue; if this it to be the place where I try to finish the first draft of my manuscript I will need to charge my computer. I take a deep breath.

I am ushered towards the staircase to the Chickadee Suite. The door closes behind me and I am in pitch blackness. I climb the stairs by muscle memory. When I reach the top I fumble with the single key I have been given and try to fit it in the lock upside down a few times before I figure out I must flip it over. The door pops open to reveal a floodlight of sunshine filling my small room overlooking the lake. I am immediately soothed. From this vantage point I will get to drink in the last of the light during the next three sunsets. I open every window and press my forehead against a pane of glass, as if that will help get me closer to nature. I move the dining table in front of the panoramic view I came here for. As I finish unpacking my things the power comes on and everything is as it should be.

I walk down to the dock and take in the view. The water is calm though it seems to move in all directions. The evening sun highlights the golden bulrushes. A crow flies overhead and beats the air with its wings. Tears threaten. This natural beauty reminds me of the Camino. It is peace. It is bliss. It is absolute perfection.

I open my computer, pick up where I left off and write until I am delirious.

Day 2

My editor has e-mailed to wish me a ‘stellar weekend of writing’, and she was right. It is midnight and I am standing under a clear night’s sky that displays a thousand sparkling stars. Tonight’s sky also holds a full moon, which means all things may happen.

I have written for the better part of the day but allowed myself to take frequent breaks – to suntan, to hike, to eat. I am having trouble discerning how far I am away from the finish line. I have no idea how many more miles I will have to write until it’s ready. They should have a GPS for this kind of thing.

Day 3

I wake up with my eyes crusted shut. They have insulated themselves overnight in order to heal from having been glued to my computer screen for so long. One more day to do it all over again.One more day to get it done.

I need less frequent rests today. I write frantically, edit incessantly. I feel good. I have trained for this. It is as though I am being driven by something outside myself.  My fingers march along with endless endurance.

And then…late in the day, my body gives out. My hands cramp. My forearms seize. My wrists give up. I find it hilarious to think that writing injuries may be the only ones I get from having walked the Camino.  I want to press on, to keep writing but I physically can’t. It is so very reminiscent of the day I laid down on the side of the road and surrendered. The day I was reminded that I am human.

So though I am closer, I am still so very far. Close, as my dad would have said, but no cigar.

Excerpt

From a “Wide Open” Chapter called ‘In Love’:

I walk in the shade of the chestnut trees and wind my way through the maze of green spiky globes they have dropped. I amble along gravel paths I am sure have been laid here just for me. The farmers’ fields are particularly bountiful.  The animals – donkeys, goats and sheep, seem to coexist perfectly with their surroundings, many of them not even fenced in. There is harmony here. A certain quality to the air. It is fresh and unpolluted and enhanced by the divine smell of grapes. But there is something more. Something intangible. Extrasensory. God-like. I have been walking through it all day. It is a presence, a texture, a vibration. It has a very particular density. And then… it hits me – it is Love. Love in its most universal state. I am literally in Love. I am surrounded by it. In the midst of it. Cloaked with it. Love in this form, at this intensity, is foreign to me but once I recognize it I can’t ignore it. It pounds at me. As I walk, the words “Love, Love, Pure, Pure Love…” beat over and over again in my head with the rhythm of my feet. I breathe it in – Love, and breathe it out – Love.  It penetrates me. It is inside me and around me, coming in and moving out of me. I continue to walk, picking up speed. Soon everything blends together and I am not just in Love, I am Love. I am an atom in the molecule of Love. It is all that exists. I can barely see. Everything has melded together. My legs continue to move and I don’t know where I am going – I try not to intervene – I let it pull me forward and pray that I remember this feeling for the rest of my life.

 

Reading, Writing, Walking

The last book I read before I left for my Camino was The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry by Rachel Joyce. Though it is a fictional novel I was so enchanted by Harold’s (and therefore the author’s) perspective of pilgrimage that I filled the back of my guidebook with quotes to keep me company along my way:

• “Harold was so tired he could barely lift his feet and yet he felt such hope he was giddy with it. If he kept looking at the things that were bigger than himself, he knew he would make it…”
• “Harold’s heel stung and his back ached, the soles of his feel were beginning to burn. His legs buckled. His fingers were throbbing. And yet, despite all this, he felt intensely alive.”
• “He had felt himself to be a part of something bigger than simply being Harold.”
• “He knew he was gong to make it and that all he had to do was to place one foot in front of the other. The simplicity of it was joyful. If he kept going forward, he would of course arrive.”

As I write these quotes once again I am struck with the notion that they are equally relevant to the book writing process. What is true of walking a pilgrimage, it seems, is also true of writing a book. Both seem impossibly long. (Sometimes I want to yell ‘Are we there yet?’ like an annoying child from the back seat, but I don’t, because I already know the answer).  They are both highly personal undertakings that require me to do the same thing over and over for hours on end, during which I often find myself going too long without food and water. Doing them alone versus in the presence of others yields differing though equally profound results. No one else can do the work for me but I humbly require assistance from many, many people.Though millions of people have gone before me, I feel like I am constantly forging new ground.When I feel like I can’t go on, I rest. I may even lay down on the side of the road and surrender, yet inevitably someone will come along and pick me back up. And in the end, if completing a book feels anything like completing a pilgrimage, it will most definitely involve a hazy finish line accompanied by bittersweet relief. I am so looking forward to it.

 

Wide Open

A note about the title.

I am often mistaken for being shy. However, the very definition of shy (being nervous or uncomfortable when talking to or meeting people) tells me that I am not. I am, on the other hand, an introvert. I derive energy from being alone, I only speak if I feel I have something really important to say and I try to stay out of the way as best I can. I’ll put it to you this way; I am the girl who walks down the back lane for as far as I can go before having to use the main sidewalk just so I am not a part of the crowd. For these reasons I am hard to get to know. I know this. I can’t help it. It’s who I am.

On the first day of my Moksha Yoga teacher training, as we sat on the ground of an outdoor yoga studio in India, the rest of the students and I were asked to sign a contract. It was like no other contract I had ever seen. It made us acknowledge that we have all had unique life experiences and it asked us to promise to share our knowledge with others during the training order to benefit the group. It was a revelation. For the first time ever I put my hand up during each lecture, I spoke out of turn, I was no longer quiet. The training provided a safe forum to practice opening up. I had to – I signed the contract.

After starting the writing of this blog I have had people – long time friends and even people I consider to be my family, tell me that they have never seen this side of me before. One friend e-mailed me and asked if I am finding it hard to open up like this. My answer was no. I am not having trouble opening up because the Camino has already opened me.

I decided to title my book Wide Open not only because walking the Camino bust my heart wide open, not only because it opened me so fully to the fact that the world is still beautiful, that people are still good and that Love is everywhere but also to remind me, every time I open my Word document to write, that the only way to benefit you, the reader is to share my experience fully, completely and honestly. To be, and continue being, wide open. It is as though the Camino has offered me another contract and in writing this book I am signing it.

Thank you for allowing this book, this blog, to be a safe forum to open up even wider.

 

It’s more than a Stretching Program

I know Pain really, really well. (It’s capitalized for a reason.) I know it from a medical point of view, a scientific point of view, and a physical point of view. I am a Physical Therapist after all. But I also know it from a social point of view, a personal point of view, and yes, a spiritual point of view.

Pain was a constant influence in my life as a child and for much of my adult life. I grew up with a dad who had constant, unremitting back Pain (you will meet him in the book) and I myself grew to know Pain more personally as a six year old child when my L5 vertebra fracture/dislocated forward on my sacrum. I was in a body brace for a year.

More recently, for the past ten years, I’d had severe, persistent neck Pain. I’d wake up in the morning unable to move my head. I’d have to use my hands to hold it just so I could sit up. I would have to hang upside down off of my treatment table between patients to get relief so I could continue to work. I’d do yoga every day to ease it. There was no injury, no impact, no reason for it that I could deduce. My only clue was this once, when my massage therapist asked me what I thought its source was, I spontaneously answered “It feels like I have an emotion wedged in my neck.”

A couple of weeks ago I was asked to present at the Canadian Company of Pilgrim’s Spring Meeting. The subject at hand was injury prevention, training and stretching for the Camino. In addition to being a Physical Therapist and yoga instructor, what got me invited onto that stage was that I have been very open with the fact that I had no pain, no injuries and not even a single blister while walking the Camino. Oh yeah, and that ten year history of neck pain? I have been free of it ever since I walked. I don’t share this tid bit to show off – I share it because it baffles me. I can’t explain it. Sure, I did a few brief training walks before I left, and a few brief stretches everyday while walking the Camino, which I will share here: Camino Program

But I did something else I didn’t mention in my presentation. Something else that isn’t mentioned in the document. I cried. A lot. They say the stones on the Camino have the unique ability to absorb tears, and for a good reason. I must have cried a hundred thousand of them. I cried long and hard and loud, and usually I didn’t even know why. But by the end of it, all of my pain was gone. Whatever was wedged in my neck had been dissolved and expelled.

So open the file, do the stretches, wear the proper socks, train before you go, but know that’s not all there is to Pain relief. If you really want to feel better, have a good cry.