See How She Works - We Can Do It. We’ve Done It!

An editor friend recently mentioned that he hears from many aspiring writers who profess their love for the craft. His reaction to that sentiment is to run for the hills! I understand completely. Sometimes – well, most of the time – writing is torture. When you think of your favorite writers, you probably imagine their photo inside the book jacket or their professional headshot beside their column. You don’t think about the greasy hair, the coffee stains, the sink full of dirty dishes, the piles of scribbled notes, the hours of tape transcription, the short fuse around deadline, the revisions, or the partner urging them to go to bed. It ain’t pretty.

I’m sitting in front my computer on a beautiful, quiet spring morning. My screen is white, the lonely cursor begging incessantly to type something, anything. I hear the clock on the wall behind me ticking. A blackbird hops along the road outside my window.

I’m wondering how the heck I got here. Again.

I’ve been here before: the writer’s block, the deadline, the thousands of other things I wish I were doing instead of writing, the singular determination to honor a commitment, the heart-racing caffeine high.

Waiting for inspiration, I remembered a similar morning about four years ago. While on the road at a conference, I had both a presentation and a hard deadline for work … on the same day. This meant I was in for a very long night-before of writing, editing, jumping jacks and coffee drinking.

The evening before my deadlines, I had dinner with a group of fun new women friends, the dread of my impending graveyard shift lurking just below the surface like a crocodile right before it drags its prey into an underwater death roll. I politely declined a glass of wine, said good night to the ladies, then walked a straight path right to my room’s “workstation” – a small desk and a lamp outfitted with one electrical outlet and a cable for “easy Internet access” that was broken on one end. Oh, boy.

It was still light outside. I glanced down at the vast cornfields that surrounded the hotel. I wished I were walking through the tall stalks, the soft green husks brushing my arms and legs as I breathed the sweet, dewy air of late July. I sighed, opened my laptop, and got to it. I would not disappoint anyone. That was my code.

Early the next morning, I paused to welcome the sun. I expressed gratitude to the night and day for helping me through the anguish of my self-inflicted all-nighter. I wrapped up the work, filed my editorial, put the finishing touches on my presentation then dunked my face into a sink full of ice water. I knew I would walk around that day with humility, raw emotion, and puffy eyes for having been up all night.

Talk about a rough morning. I struggled to stay awake, open, engaged and cheerful, all the things you need to be at a conference about women’s professional development. At another time or another place, I might have excused myself to go pass out in my room during lunch but Wilma Mankiller was giving the luncheon keynote. I had never met her before or heard her speak in person, so I ignored the pain in my eyelids and took a seat beside the stage.

Wilma talked about many things, but what I remember most clearly was her perspective on experience. She asked, is education about graduating high school or acquiring trade skills? Earning a college degree? Maybe, she suggested, it’s better to consider education to be a priceless bundle of life experiences that we carry around with us all the time.

It struck me that I was present to hear those words because of a hardy work ethic that is inherent in Native women. Around my table were working mothers, veteran entrepreneurs, teachers, big sisters, grandmothers and young prodigies. We’ve all raised babies, cooked and cleaned for the Indian masses, studied and worked after everyone else has gone to sleep, made budgets, stood up and spoke out, did the things we thought we could not do. Everything that is required for success, we’ve already done. I realized I wasn’t the only one in the room with tired eyes and fabulous hair.

I’ll always be grateful for that experience. I was in the right place – and the right mind – at the right time. That conference was one event on my path to self-fulfillment. I ventured into entrepreneurial waters because I wanted to own my effort, work relentlessly for my family and community, and encourage others to do the same.

Monica Simeon, co-founder and partner of Sister Sky, a Native American woman-owned company based in Spokane, Wash. is a friend and mentor. She said recently: 

“Being in business is about how we can flourish soulfully, sustainably and successfully. The very process changes lives, cultures and communities.”

So, how the heck did I get here (again)? Whether I like it or not, writing is my best tool for encouraging the kind of change and success our communities need. If I don’t take on challenges, why should I ask others to?

Randi Rourke Barreiro is owner of Sky Woman Media, a Mohawk woman-owned communications firm specializing in public relations. Her blog “See How She Works” chronicles her journey into entrepreneurship. Find her on Facebook or contact her at [email protected].