Ordinary Days: The journey, not the destination, and other cliches

A couple months ago, my family went to the Smoky Mountains for a vacation. One day, we went on a hike that took us from a busy parkway up a trail and into the silence. The incline started immediately, so within minutes, we were above some of the trees and far enough away from the road that car noises faded and the only sounds were birds and the breeze in the trees. 

Kate and Sela ran up ahead for a while, giggling as they rounded every bend and picked up bright fall-colored leaves from the path. When the novelty wore off, however, they began to drag. “How much longer is it?” they asked. “When do we get to the end?”

And as parents often do, I found myself spouting a cliched life lesson. “Girls, it’s not about the ending. We’re not trying to get to a certain point. We’re just enjoying the trail.”

It’s about the journey, not the destination. It wasn’t until later that I realized how aptly that applied to me. 

After taking the summer off from writing — and a few extra, unintended months — I’m finally writing my next book. With three previous novels under my belt, it may seem that this process is second nature to me, but I heartily disagree. In fact, getting this story off the ground has been significantly harder than previous attempts. 

It took me a while to understand why this was happening. “What is wrong with you that you can’t seem to begin another story?” I kept asking myself. “You’ve done this before! You know the drill!” 

Then, sitting in my office one day, staring across the room at a stack of my novels, I realized my problem. Or at least one of them. I’d been comparing my work on this newest fledgling novel to its three edited, polished, perfected older siblings. The first draft of any new book is always hesitant, vague and fluid, rarely digging under the surface for meat and substance. Or at least that’s what my first drafts are like. 

The polishing and spiffing up comes way later. And as someone with a perfectionist streak, it’s hard to enjoy the journey without just wanting to get to the destination. 

It’s taking me being very deliberate about closing the door on my own judgment of my writing, of letting myself take a side trail if it looks appealing and being willing to turn around and go back to the main road if the trail doesn’t pan out. It’s hard, but it’s necessary, because writing, just like life, rarely follows a preplanned path from A to B without some wiggling in the middle. 

Over the holidays, we had a chance to have my whole family at our house for several days. As my mom, brother, sister-in-law and I all crowded into my teeny kitchen, preparing our feast, a flash of “this is the journey” ran through my mind. The meal would no doubt be wonderful — warm, tasty, shared by the people I love the most — but the journey was such a huge part of it.

It’s little reminders like that — the broken eggs and spilled pecans before a family meal, the winding mountain trail that has no end point but promises natural beauty along the way and the characters that pop into a story, then just as quickly see themselves to the door — that remind us to keep our eyes open to the narrative that’s happening around us right now. 

Not in six months when this book is finished. Not in an hour when we’re all sitting around the table, leaving the mess hidden away in the other room. Not when we get to that place in our life we’re sure will be better than this. 

Right now has its own particular beauty and purpose, even if the path we’re on at the moment is the one with all the twists, bumps and unexpected turns. 

My novels “The Hideaway” and “Hurricane Season” are available wherever books are sold. “Glory Road” releases in March 2019. You can reach me by email at Lauren @LaurenKDenton.com, visit my website LaurenKDenton.com or find me onInstagram @LaurenKDentonBooks, Twitter @LaurenKDenton or on Facebook @ LaurenKDentonAuthor.