FACE YOUR FEARS
First things first, you should probably know that 99% of the time I’m writing like this…
I tried doing it the other way, you know, only writing when my 3-year-old was either napping or asleep. Only problem is, he doesn’t really do that… just not his thing I guess. So just like with showering, peeing and pooping, I’ve learned to adapt my writing technique to a more kid-friendly method.
It often reminds me of that famous quote by Bob Thaves about how Ginger Rogers did everything Fred Astaire did, but backwards and in heels. I like to think I do everything Ernest Hemmingway did, but while peeling an orange with one hand, getting up to wipe a butt that’s not mine every 20-minutes, all while using an apple juice covered keyboard and with twice as much alcohol intake as ol’ Ernie.
At this point I imagine you’re thinking, “Who is this chick to compare herself to perhaps one of America’s greatest writers when she’s already references bowel movements twice and I’m only three paragraphs in?”
Great question. My name’s Destiny. I live in Richardson, Texas with my gorgeous husband and our three hilarious children. And also our teenager. He refuses to be hilarious because, like, angst and stuff. So, four kids altogether and not a dud in the bunch.
We laugh a lot, scream a ton, and love each other despite all the constant bickering and hair pulling.
Our kids get along pretty well too.
I’m a writer and an activist, and my husband does something at an office all day long that helps to make that possible. When I’m not trying to turn housewives into angry, man-hating feminists, you can usually find me on a patio somewhere with the two great loves of my life: Queso and margaritas.
When I was 4-years-old, I was to take a helicopter ride, but as soon as we started lifting off one of the engines caught fire. We immediately landed and everyone was fine. My parents said I didn’t seem to phase me at all, but for years I’ve had a crippling fear of flying. It took a lot to get me on a plane, like we’re talking Xanax and booze. (The irony there is that the odds were probably better of me dying from an overdose than an actual plane crash.)
Then last year, I had to fly to Vancouver for a speaking engagement all by myself. The kicker? There was going to be a layover in San Fran and not only did I have to change flights, but I had to change airlines too. I knew there was at least a 50% chance I would end up like Tom Hanks in that one really dumb movie he did, living in an airport if I didn’t fly sober… for the first leg at least. I know it sounds stupid, but that was kinda a pivotal moment for me. I didn’t anxiety attack all over the plane like I’d feared I would. As far as my seatmates could tell, I was an old pro, and in that moment, believe it or not I actually got over a fear that’d literally kept me grounded for years and now I truly enjoy jet-setting.
It should be noted however, that on the way back, I got stuck on a puddle jumper in a rainstorm, and suddenly that newfound confidence kinda flew out the window and I was totally fine with Tom Hanksing it, in an airport for the rest of my days as long as I could get sky drunk in this particular instance. But no matter how much I begged and pleaded with the flight attendant to give me a pinot grigio she said she couldn’t because there was just too much turbulence (HELLO!!! Why do you think I NEED wine at 9am, lady?!?!). But even then, I pushed through my fear and lived another day to tempt my fate in many more 400-ton metal sky coffins.
And if I start to feel those pre-flight jitters creep up now, it helps to remind myself that 35,000 feet in the sky is probably the only place I’ll be able to pee alone for at least the next few years!3