Claiming a Seat at the Table

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The weather couldn't have been more perfect for the drive.

Warm, drizzly, and somewhere around 66 degrees, with a blanket of gray clouds covering the sky. Some people might consider it a dreary day, but I have always loved this kind of weather, especially when I have the opportunity to write or create. There is something about the rain that makes me feel more alive. It seems to invite reflection, and I find myself paying attention to things I might otherwise overlook.

I was on my way to the Hudson Valley for a four-day writing conference, something I had been looking forward to for weeks and dreaming about attending for years. I arrived at the Chatham Travel Lodge a little earlier than necessary, which is pretty typical of me, especially when I'm going somewhere unfamiliar. I like having time to find my way around without feeling rushed. It also gave me an opportunity to take a little detour into Spencertown and visit the Spencertown Academy Arts Center.

The historic white building, with its tall columns and welcoming green chairs on the front porch, was a lovely introduction to the area. There were still a few leaves clinging to the trees, and I caught glimpses of the autumn color that remains in this part of New York. It was a short visit, but a good reminder to leave room for the unexpected along the way.

There was another reason this drive felt especially meaningful. I had saved the ending of an audiobook for the trip, and I am so glad I did.

I had been listening to Meet Me Tonight in Atlantic City by Jane Wong over the past month. I also purchased the paperback because I wanted to bring it with me to the conference. But there is something particularly beautiful about hearing an author read her own words. You hear the rhythm, the pauses, the emotion behind the sentences. It feels like being invited into the story in a different way.

As I listened, I found myself thinking about what it means to be a writer, and whether I really belonged at a conference like this. I wondered about the credentials of the people I would meet, their education, their experience, and whether I would understand the language and culture of a literary community that sometimes feels a little unfamiliar to me.

I also found myself comparing stories. Jane Wong writes about experiences and hardships that are very different from my own. Her story includes challenges I have not personally experienced, and I began to question whether my own experiences were enough. Was my story important enough? Did I have something worth bringing into a room full of writers?

But as I continued listening, something shifted.

I was reminded of conversations I have had with people whose stories are very different from mine. When I first began interviewing people experiencing homelessness for a podcast at work, I questioned who I was to ask them to share such personal experiences. I wondered whether they would feel judged or misunderstood. Instead, I discovered how meaningful it could be simply to have someone listen, to recognize that their experiences mattered, and to make room for their stories to be heard.

I began to understand that the value of a story isn't determined by how closely it resembles someone else's. We don't have to share the same experiences to recognize the humanity in one another. And we don't have to have lived through the same hardships to have something meaningful to say.

As the audiobook drew to a close, Jane spoke about the difficulties of finding her way as a published writer, the rejection, the persistence, and the importance of writing itself. I found myself relating to her in ways I hadn't anticipated. I understood what it meant to have writing become such an important part of who you are, even when you don't always understand where the words come from or why you feel compelled to put them on a page.

I have spent a lot of years running from that part of myself. I have also spent a lot of years finding my way back to it.

Over the past year, much of my attention has been focused on building, learning, developing programs, and figuring out how to bring the things I have worked so hard to create into the world. Somewhere along the way, I realized I needed to return to the more personal and vulnerable side of my writing. Revisiting some of that older work opened a door I hadn't realized I had closed.

And then, almost unexpectedly, things began to come together. I submitted a couple of pieces of writing, received an invitation to this conference, and found myself working on a new piece called The Table for the closing reading.

It feels as though several different parts of my life have been leading me here.

By the time the audiobook ended, I was no longer questioning whether I belonged. I felt moved by the story, but also encouraged by it. I didn't need to have the same credentials, the same experiences, or the same path as the people I would meet. I had my own work, my own voice, and my own reasons for being there.

I know that I deserve a seat in this room. I have worked toward it, and the path that brought me here is part of my story.

So, as I settle in and prepare for the opening of the conference, that is what I want to carry with me this weekend. I want to be present. I want to listen, learn, share, and make connections. I want to enjoy the experience without worrying about what comes next or whether I am doing enough.

For the next four days, I am giving myself permission to step away from the everyday responsibilities and immerse myself in something I have wanted to do for a long time.

I don't know exactly what this weekend will bring. But I am looking forward to finding out.

And I have a feeling there will be a few more stories to tell when I get home.

Becoming, always returning,

Carrie

Carrie Woodcock

Founder, Total Transformation

NBC-HWC Health Coach

ACE Personal Trainer & Behavior Change Specialist

PN Level 1 Nutrition Coach

Mental Well-Being Certified Fitness Professional

...And Writer