Emergence
By Ellen Hopkins
I’m currently at a writing retreat, one I’ve done before, but not in a while. Climbing out of the COVID shell and emerging into the familiar. Sort of. I’ve spent the last week preparing for a move, our first in over 30 years. The bio I’ve used for at least a decade says I live with my extended family, and this pivotal moment in my history means uprooting them, too. We will go in different directions, and wind up 2,000 miles apart.
Honestly, we’ve been moving in that direction, inch by inch. My daughter and her husband have built a strong e-commerce business, and that has demanded more and more of their attention. Their kids have turned their focus toward favored activities. One of my sons has just returned to the work force. The other struggles to find his proper place in a world that seems increasingly hostile and competitive toward artists.
At home, I regularly wake at around 4 a.m., thoughts ping-ponging inside my brain. What must I accomplish today? What have I forgotten to do? What bills do I have to pay? When are my taxes due? It was dark when I woke this morning, here at this writer’s retreat and I knew it must be four a.m. but there were different worries inside my head.
Memories of family trips. Hawaii. Costa Rica. A Caribbean cruise. Those, after my own devotion to career allowed them financially. But there were hundreds before that. Fishing Caples Lake. Camping at Camp Richardson, with a bear outside our tent. Disneyland. Giants games. Walking across the Golden Gate Bridge. Hiking. Skiing. Biking. Dog walking. Oh, and holiday dinners, gatherings too big to be comfortable in my kitchen, but we always managed to squeeze everybody in. Sometimes with extra guests.
As I’ve started sorting through all the things I’ve collected over 30 years—artwork, books, photos, mementos—other memories intrude on the good. Arguments. Physical fights. Unkind words tossed like they didn’t slice whoever was on the receiving end. Breakdowns. Addiction. Disappointments. Promises broken. Illness. Physical decline. Fears, large and small. Each built a layer of distrust, despite the unwavering love.
My family has lived in close proximity, yet these things have wedged us apart. We’ve built cocoons of self-preservation around ourselves, and believed we were more secure within them. Maybe we were. But, oh, what we might have lost! It isn’t too late to shed them, and oddly, this move, which seems overwhelming now, might be the impetus.
When the idea was abstract, we all remained cocooned. When it became likely, I witnessed a side of my daughter I’d rarely seen before. She pulled out a map of the country. Dismissed certain areas, considered a few, and settled on one she fell in love with when we traveled together there two decades ago. Then she figured out how to make that happen. All without me involved. She has become a butterfly. And if she can become one, so can I.
We’ll always share those memories, beautiful and ugly, awesome and awful. Now it’s time to create new ones. The holidays will be strange this year.
Photo/Ellen Hopkins.
Ellen Hopkins is a poet, former journalist, and the award-winning author of 20 nonfiction books for young readers, 15 bestselling young-adult novels, and four novels for adult readers. Ellen lives with her extended family, two brilliant German shepherds, and a couple of ponds (not pounds) of koi in the eastern shadow of the Northern Nevada Sierra. Learn more about Ellen Hopkins and her books at: http://ellenhopkinsbooks.com/.
Ellen Hopkins is also representing Nevada at this year's National Book Festival that takes place from September 17-26, 2021, with the theme "Open a Book, Open the World." Here are more resources about the National Book Festival and Ellen Hopkins’ involvement.
Great Reads from Great Places – Family on YouTube with Ellen Hopkins.
Click HERE for the Festival Near You page, featuring all Center for the Book selections and events.
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