Trees Falling From the Sky

I had both of my boys geared up for our Sunday morning park outing when it started to drizzle. A heavy mist fell, cooling the giant kaha mara tree at the end of our walkway. We sat on the front steps waiting for the rain to pass, my rambunctious boys hushed by the pitter-patter on the awning. Feeling the breeze on my skin, I let out an audible sigh. When suddenly – CRACK! A tree branch, 30-feet long, 20-inches in diameter, crashed onto the walkway right in front of us, bringing its sibling branches right along with it. I gasped. My children looked to me for how to respond. I imagined in horror that, had it not started to rain, we might have been standing in the very spot where it had landed. I wanted to inspect closer, but I knew better. The tree might not be finished falling.

Lately, I have been thinking a lot about uncertainty. I am a person who can handle moving across the world to live in a place completely different from home. However, I feel the earth is crumbling under my feet for two hours straight when the kids’ bedtime routine needs shifting or my weekend plans change. It takes me time to wrap my head around the new scenario. It takes me time to adjust to my new vision of the future.

In Sri Lanka, it’s quite common for people to switch gears, change plans, or even avoid planning altogether in favor of living in the moment. “Getting late” is something that is happening to you; it’s not an issue you actively avoid. When I had just arrived to the island, I once overheard a hotel manager tell an employee that, should he fall sick, he should not send his brother in his place—as if this kind of exchange were a common occurrence. After living here for some time, I can now imagine the employee wondering: if my brother can get the job done, well, why not? He was solving the problem in the moment.

I have begun to ask myself, as a Westerner, have I trained my mind to constantly occupy the future? Is that the cause of much of my stress? And is constantly living in the future what leads us to long for more traditionally eastern practices like meditation? Out of need, maybe we are seeking the calm that only comes from living in the present. Most Sri Lankans don’t technically practice meditation, but sometimes I wonder if they are simply, naturally, occupying the present most of the time anyway.

The tree didn’t fall on our heads that day. Might it tomorrow? I don’t know. Am I ok with that uncertainty? I’m not sure. But I’m not going to avoid walking under these magnificent golden shade trees. And just maybe, on my walks, I can start relaxing into the fluid nature of my time here.

When I'm Not Making Sense of Falling Flora...

I'm making sense of my career. After ten years taking various independent writing and editing jobs, I have figured out what I'm good at, and by virtue, what I enjoy the most: developmental book editing. Yay.

But wait...what does that even mean?

The work on my first book, The Ordinary Chaos of Being Human (Penguin SEA, 2019), brought me half a dozen projects in full length memoir editing. I discovered that my strengths were working on the book's big picture: from concept, audience, and structure to marketing. But there are so many other key skills needed to create and sell a beautiful book. And I realized that over the last decade, I had developed roster of talented cohorts who are better at their jobs than me––line editors, copy editors, proofreaders, translators, artists, designers, agents... I don't want to go it alone. And good news. I don't have to.

Now, to gain a 360 understanding of the ever-evolving publishing industry, I'm going to launch the second edition of my book independently.

Stay tuned, I'll be sharing the ride.