RebeccaChapa.com

I have really missed writing daily. I used the Camino de Santiago as a reason to write. Could I really have anything interesting to say in my normal life? Maybe or maybe not… but I was struck today by grim news that someone is met, she was only 58 years young, has passed away.

I met Audrey at the home of a friend on the edge of the Pacific. We seemed to click or else her dynamism was just so infectious she may have made everyone feel that way, no matter.

I told her of my interest in writing fiction (she was both a screenwriter and director). She let me tell her my idea for a book or movie, I’m sure she got inundated that all the time by aspiring writers, but she then told me she liked the idea. We moved on and spoke about lots of things, our families, my parents and my background. Later in the evening after listening to one of my stories she turned to me and said, “That’s the story right there. Why not write about you?”

Those words have haunted me since. I’ve done some of the work. Picked at those raw moments. Dig into the wounds and then bandaged them up again tightly. This Thursday I was in San Francisco and had friends staying with me. We spoke about Audrey and those words. I told them that now was the time for me to get to work. The slow season on Nantucket may be just the recipe for quiet contemplation and reflection. And I told my friends that now it felt like I had enough of a story where I could say the Camino is the end of the story, although in my heart I know that no story really ends.

I have about a ream of paper here in SF that my obsessive side printed out. Many vignettes I wanted to have on paper in case my hard drive crashes. After we said goodnight I sat in bed and I started reading my own words. I started a particular intro piece I’d written a few years ago while in the very same home where I’d met Audrey. I wrote…

“Trying to write about your life, well, you’d think you have to start at the beginning. And then you get stuck striving to find out how things are going to end, and of course you were never there at the beginning and how can you know how (or if) it is all going to end.”

I also wrote

“Every sign in my life, in my mind, and in my body is leading me to write this NOW. This idea was spawned what seems like a lifetime ago. I was out here on the Mendocino Coast, in the same home. We ate abalone, drank amazing wines and we laid on the grass and gazed at the stars. Despite immense trepidation I made a walk out onto the spit of land that sits in front of me now, a tiny finger that reaches into the Pacific, a rickety fence on one side to add an element of security, but a deep abyss below. I almost crawled to the comforting bench at the lip of the Pacific plate and the world in front of me. At the brink you experience exhilaration and utter terror. Here this idea was spawned, that this story was not about everyone else, it was not fiction, but that I was good enough. THIS story is about me.”

Little did I know that Audrey died Thursday. I found out today. Coincidence that I was hearing her words in my ear? The urging to make sure that I know there’s no time to waste because time is always way too short. I know from the walk that there are no coincidences if you are brave enough to let yourself feel the magic that this universe is trying to remind us of. The magic that we need to bring back. These lessons from the Camino that are so hard to remember upon reentry into life where your only job isn’t walking.

I’m heeding Audrey’s words today. I’m going to challenge myself. I’m going to keep going and I won’t make promises but maybe if I can just do a little every day, someday I’ll be able to have that book in my hand.

No let me rewrite that. That’s wrong. It is my best purpose to write this book. It’s my job. I’m committed to doing that to show my gratitude for having had this incredible life. I have plenty to say, and I’ve got insight to share.

Will you keep walking with me?