Palahniuk and Powell’s

“Give me your hand.”  Fingers aflutter I complied reaching out to grasp Chuck Palahniuk’s hand as I perched on his knee, our other arms entwined around one another.  I forgot all about my camera in the capable hands of the awesome

couple behind me in line snapping pictures for me; I forgot I was at Powell’s Books in Portland, Oregon; I forgot every word of what I wanted to say in this momentous moment.  I blathered nonsense instead in sheer anxiety, what I do when I’m in any social situation, on full throttle here.  He was gracious, kindly ignoring my presentation, and talked with me anyway, taking his time signing two books with personal inscriptions. 

I only recently learned of the existence of heaven on earth, also known as Powell’s Books.  How had I never known

about this place?  It is the largest bookstore in the world, comprising a full city block, three-stories tall.  I toured it on-line, drooling, foaming at the mouth the whole time and immediately decided to take a road trip, a pilgrimage.  I then clicked on the “events” link and there it was – a book signing in two weeks by Chuck Palahniuk.  Clearly kismet.  I had just written about him here, just finished his most recent book, Beautiful You.  I opened the garage, got in my car and waited for two weeks to go by.

It was a 15-hour trip one way.  I broke it up into two days for travel each way and they were long two days.  But it was a gorgeous exciting drive.  The

journey on the way up filled with excitement, anticipation, hope.  On the way back, I was full, satiated in a way I haven’t been for some time.  My car was stuffed with books and my heart was equally full and happy and I’ve carried a glow around me since I’ve been back.

It’s such a risk, meeting your heroes.  Often they turn out to be either absolute assholes, or disappointing in myriad ways.  Not so Chuck Palahniuk.  Powell’s, which was

even more awesome than I had fantasized, had the event exceedingly well organized.  I was anxious about what to expect.  Did I need to camp out the night before?  Would I be waiting in line all day?  Whatever it was I was prepared to do.  I got there when the doors opened at 9:00 a.m. and was able to go right up to the counter and receive my “A” line ticket.  I would be in the first of four groups.  Easy and awesome.  They said he would sign two books.  I could take pictures of him, but he wouldn’t be posing for pictures.  The very first person in line he posed with.  He played with each person personally, lifting

one girl off her feet for a shot, honking one man’s breast for a candid, playing out the iconic Charlie’s Angels pose, snuggling up behind others for cozy shots, and for me – down on one knee with his arm around me, holding my hand, looking into my eyes as I swooned. 

It was the most fun I have had in a while.  I giggled and jumped up and down in line with the young man behind me, both of us giddy as we inched closer and closer.  He had tattoos on his arms of different scenes from Palahniuk books. 

He was lovely.  “You’re next, you’re up next!” he whispered in sudden quiet and awe.  And there I was, all cognitive capacity and articulation ability leeched out in a puddle back in line as I finally stood in front of him – Chuck Palahniuk.  The author of Fight Club.  So many works, so much – Survivor, Invisible Monsters, Choke, Lullaby, Fugitives and Refugees, Diary (I just finished this one and I think it may actually be my favorite.  I literally exclaimed aloud at the ending.  How often does that happen?!), Stranger Than Fiction, Haunted, Rant, Snuff, Pygmy, Tell-All, Damned, Doomed.  And his most recent, launching this book signing, Beautiful You. 

I chose Beautiful You and Damned to be inscribed.  I wish I had chosen Diary instead.  Next time?

I kept saying “thank you.”  He thought I meant for the signing, for the pictures.  But what I meant, what I wanted to say was so much more.  I wanted

to say thank you for the books.  Thank you for writing them, for having the amazing courage to release them out into the world.  Thank you for taking what’s deep and often dark and personal and pure, what’s hidden away and brutally true, and putting it on the page.  Thank you for the uncompromising work, the heart and soul and remarkable mind birthing it all.  For being in this world.  In my world, our world.  For how very much we need you in this world.

Just - thank you.
 

The Forty-Eight Year Journey

It’s funny how “change” occurs.  Oftentimes it seems like it happens very quickly.  All of a sudden, things just fall into our lap, we stumble through an innocuous step that changes the whole course of our life.  It just happened,

out of the blue.  But did it really?  What if we put a slow motion speed setting to that process and watched it on film?  Like those of a hummingbird frenetically zooming about the garden resembling a spaceship; one moment right in front of your face, in less than a blink of an eye it’s across the yard snorting up catnip flowers.  When that movement is slowed down and captured we can see those little wings beating so hard, the tiny straining muscles; we can imagine a tiny drop of sweat beading up on his miniscule forehead as he struggles to keep himself aloft. 

It is critical to slow down our own process as well, see it for what it is and most importantly, what we really did that resulted in that “sudden” change.  Nothing just happens.  It’s a bucket.  Every day you go by it on your way to your real

day to day life of work and kids and family and errands and bills and drama and busywork.  But you may be able to add a drop to the bucket on your way out; maybe two at the end of the day, or middle of the night.  Maybe there’s a day when a whole cup flows into it.  Usually it’s not in the forefront, this little reservoir you’re almost unconsciously filling.  But then one day – one fateful day – you put in a little drop and the whole bucket spills over.  It reached its tipping point.  And now it’s spilled over and you’re walking in it knee deep, it’s everywhere.  It has to be

dealt with.  It can’t be ignored any more.  Now there is more over “here” than the “there” of your familiar day to day life.  “Someday” is here.  It just got moved up to the forefront and it just got real.

How did that happen?  All of a sudden the stars seemed to align and things just happened; the scales tipped over and you’re on the other side.  But it didn’t just happen out of the blue.  You built that.  Drop by drop, each drop as essential as the one before, the one to come.  They add up.  They join together to build a river that will sweep you away.
 
And now here you are.  Giddy, amazed, still scared to let go of that rock that

tethers you to the shore, but knowing you are going to.  It’s like being in line for that terrifying crazy roller coaster ride at the fair with your friends.  You’re all laughing too loud at stupid things.  Flexing bravado at fear.  You know it’s inevitable, you’re going to end up with your butt in that front seat; there is no turning back.  You’re scared, but you know you chose this; you paid for your ticket, got in line.  You created this fear and you’re going to engage it.  It will be fun you tell yourself. 

And it is.  You survive and you and your friends crow to one another.  Look what we have done.

There is a random flier in your mailbox at work, a commercial on late-night television, and you follow it and your life changes forever.  You have kids.  They leave, they come back.  You divorce.  Your husband dies.  You’re alone.  You come together again.  You struggle for money, for survival.  You do what you need to do.  You do survive.  Your survival means your entrapment.  You finally see the trap, too late.  You’re ensnared.  But something deep inside, something not

allowed into consciousness yet – it’s not safe there – quietly begins to collect those drops of water.  Those non-threatening drops that don’t mean anything by themselves.  Not really.  You surreptitiously add them one by one to that bucket by the front door. 

And now it’s overflowed.  You’re in it.  You did that.  There is no going back.  They can’t be put back in that bucket again.  It’s too late.  So you find meaning.  This must mean I’m now ready.  This must mean I finally have the fortitude, the resources I need to embark.  That’s ok.  Fine.  Whatever you need to tell yourself, whatever works.  But move baby. 

 
You need to ride that roller coaster to wherever it goes.  You bought your ticket, paid the price, waited your turn.  Step up, step in and thrill to the ride.  Get ready to scream in terror and delight.  Look at that first plunge up ahead already that will turn you on your head.  You have a moment of wanting to get off, to escape, maybe many moments; you know you’re going to be sick.  But it’s too late.  You’re here now, strapped in.  You set yourself up.  There are others around you, shouting at the fear, bring it on, some are cowering in their seats with their eyes closed.  But they’re all doing it.  They’re all on this ride with you.  You are a part of your own creation.  You may not be in charge now of the Frankenstein monster you’ve created and incubated all these long years.  So be it.
Enjoy the ride baby.  Enjoy the ride.

To my dearest friend Violet.  I believe in you.