My Full Circle of the Personal Analysis Bureau
This post inspired by the WordPress Weekly Writing Challenge: Object. Look around your writing space. Pick object(s) you see (or hear or smell or feel) and reveal them to your reader. How do they represent you? How do they tell your story? Writing has changed me on a cellular level. Writing has been a miraculous piece of my recovery. Writing is the purpose I’ve found impossible to live without. And, the magic I can’t seem to stop from finding it’s way into the world.
And I’ve never considered myself a writer.
Every minute I spend sitting in my writing chair in my writing room with my writing candle lit I feel a universe of emotion.
Awe in the magic and ideas that are surging out of me.
Frustration of judgment in the middle when I allow self-doubt to invade the process.
Wholeness when I see ordinary words weave together into the powerful story of myself.
And occasionally my eyes will settle upon the vintage secretary desk in the corner that holds vintage books. The desk and the books were left in the home we purchased that was formerly owned by a hoarder. We kept the desk because it is a beautiful piece. We kept the books because they were an intriguing collection of small books of poetry and literature and mysteriously charming.
And then there was this book, mismatched and not quite fitting into the collection. Personal Analysis and Development Volume II Physical Fitness published in 1928 by the Personal Analysis Bureau. Simply the main title alone was too fitting for this mental health therapist in the midst of her own recovery (and arguably the “are you crazy?” status of our decision to purchase and remodel a hoarder’s home).
I kept the book then because somewhere deep inside I knew I could not let it go. Then, though, it was simply an old, smelly but intriguing book. For, the spark of my own book had only just begun inside of me. I had submitted my first round of query letters for Ever Upward that spring on what would have been my first Mother’s Day. But the blog, Ever Upward, was not even the slightest flicker in my being.
And here I am, about 9 months later, irony not lost, feeling the lightness of the small book in my hands. Running my fingers over the series title; feeling the words that, in reality, have embodied every second of my recovery. Smelling the old as I flip through the yellowed pages. And, feeling a sense of completed wonder as I notice, maybe for the first time, the titles of the volumes of the entire collection inside the book.
The parallels they run with the chapters of Ever Upward, the book, feels eerily perfect. The parallels they contain with my life in recovery fills me with a sense of wholehearted honor and dignity.
Noticing this book again and truly seeing the objects around me enabled me to literally feel the physicality of ever upward in my hands.
The awe inspiring and spirit completing reminder that there are no mistakes and everything is exactly as it is supposed to be.
As, this is not only my story, my spirit and light, but also every single page of the book of me. And only one of the many volumes.
That, and the spiritual grasp that I am a writer.
For this is a book, for me, soulfully filled, somehow, with my history, presence and the hope of my ever upward.