Monday, December 31, 2012
I have spent much of this snowy, white weekend with my dear friend Katrina Kenison, who may live among mountains and wild flowers north of here, but who has a way of writing that extends her voice and touch straight out of terrestrial geography. She is gentle with you. She is fierce with herself. She wants to live a full, complete life—not losing all she's loved, not forfeiting the present hour. Introverted, she thinks. Gracious, she extends.
Katrina has a new book now, a memoir, called Magical Journey: An Apprenticeship in Contentment. On this last day of 2012, and for a few days tripping into 2013, you have a chance to win a copy.
You know how much I love Katrina, for just a few days ago I wrote about her here. I shared, as well, the film she's made that suggests the themes in her new book. But let me do something more to entice you. Let me quote from this book about needing, wanting, failing, righting, this book so tender, forthright, and honest that, even if you cannot find a silent place to read, all the voices that tangle in your head will, in Katrina's company, be silenced. Katrina is writing about herself, but she is, as all memoirists must, also writing about women like her, women who have raised children and who are asking, quietly or chorally, What next? What is my purpose here? "Now I'm coming to believe," Katrina writes:
that there is room in the world for all our stories, not only the heroic narratives of extraordinary people who inspire us with their accomplishments, but also simple stories of ordinary struggles. I suspect that every mother, no matter what her circumstances, muddles her way through the intricate dance of holding on and letting go; that no parent ever feels they get it exactly right; and that though our stories may look different on the surface, they are in many ways the same—about lives that feel as confusing and exhilarating, as mundane and precious, as imperfect and blessed as my own.What do you believe? And how might Katrina's journey mirror or magnify your own? If you want a chance to win a copy of this book, all you have to do is put a comment here, naming one single thing in which you find quiet contentment. You have until January 4th. And then we'll pull a name from the virtual hat.