Way back a year and a half ago, I entered a contest to win a copy of the book Momma Zen
by Karen Maezen Miller. I had never heard of the book, so I based my decision on the following factors:- It was a free book.
- The title had both Momma and Zen in it, which sounded good.
- I liked Shawn and Shawn liked the book.
- Did I mention it was free? I could win it! Yay, free books!
So, I threw my name in and... I won!
I was immediately sorry I had. What was I going to do now? For the most part, I guard my anonymity jealously -- even more so then than now -- but the book had to be sent somewhere. And I wasn't about to just throw my real name and address out there to a total stranger. Sure, she said she was a mother and Zen priest, which all sounds very peaceful and safe, but how did I know she wasn't a serial killer? See, you get burned by the person you trust most in life -- you find out one day your husband has been living a double life -- and you fear to trust anyone. I was playing then the same "what if" game I still play today, but it hadn't yet become a useful tool for me; it kept me mired at the point where fear and suspicion turn to paranoia and paralysis, rather than gently guiding me to appropriate leaps of faith.
Yet I still did want a free book. (If a serial killer were going to lure me, it would be with free books.) So, I sent Shawn the name and address of a friend of mine who knows about my blog and had agreed to forward the book on to me. Then I crossed my fingers and hoped Karen wasn't the second coming of the Unibomber, and that I wouldn't spend the rest of my days kicking myself when my friend died because the explosive device meant for me was delivered to her home. As a result of my (ahem) "extreme caution," I have a very nice note from Karen and a lovely autographed copy of Momma Zen, both with my friend's name inscribed on them.
But the story doesn't end there. After I received the book, it sat on my shelf for a year and a half, because I was afraid to read it. As a writer, I know that each book is a piece of someone's soul. But as a reader, I've always been a harsh critic: viewing them with the detached eye of a connoisseur and focusing on what's lacking rather than what's there. By the time I received Momma Zen I'd started reading Karen's blog and she was reading mine. So, here I was, holding a piece of the soul of this person I was just getting to know, and knowing that I might hate it. What was I going to say: "Thanks for graciously sending me the work of your heart. I regret to inform you that I find your heart sucky."?
But for a number of reasons, I finally decided to pick up the book this weekend. I read just two chapters before I put it down and walked away. Then I went straight to my computer and ordered a copy for a pregnant friend. Sometimes leaps of faith pay off, and sometimes dragging yourself through a year and a half of dread just to find the edge of the cliff does.
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