I’m recording the audiobook for my recent book Moms Don’t Have Time To: A Quarantine Anthology. I was so stressed out about finding the time to do it — and how complicated it seemed — that I kept putting it off. That is, until my husband Kyle reminded me of a few important things.
1.) That if I put 10 one-hour recording sessions on my calendar, I’d just get it done. Nothing worth stressing over. Small steps taken together would get me to the end.
2.) I’d been dying to narrate my own audiobook. I should enjoy it!
3.) I was beyond happy to have published the anthology to begin with, remember?
4.) Once I started, it probably wouldn’t take as long as I thought. Nothing ever does.
And 5.) I shouldn’t act like a movie star complaining about an early call-time.
So, fortified with the excellent advice that applies to far more than this endeavor, I finally started recording yesterday morning.
And now I’m halfway done. Because once I started, I realized how enjoyable, therapeutic and fun it was, something I hadn’t factored into my scheduling calculus. I didn’t want to stop.
Rereading the dozens of essays written by 60+ authors who I’d interviewed on my podcast, Moms Don’t Have Time to Read Books, slowly, out loud, many from the early pandemic times, has been seriously emotional. A few of the endings had me holding back tears. Their power. The rawness. And the authors were all such leaders with their wise words in that unprecedented time of fear and uncertainty.
Turns out, stressing about the project wasted the most time of all. In fact, I almost missed the plot: the experience was a gift to unwrap and, instead, I mistakenly dreaded it as an unknown. And that important lesson will stay with me long after I’ve uploaded the .wav files to the FTP site and closed the laptop.
One essay at a time quickly becomes a whole book if you’ll let it.
