Sarah Marshank - Being Selfish: My Journey from Escort to Monk to Grandmother

Being Selfish: My Journey from Escort to Monk to Grandmother — read online for free the complete book (whole text) full work

Below is the text of the book, divided by pages. System saving the place of the last page read, allows you to conveniently read the book "Being Selfish: My Journey from Escort to Monk to Grandmother" online for free, without having to search again every time where you left off. Put a bookmark, and you can go to the page where you finished reading at any time.

Light

Font size:

↓

↑

Georgia Tahoma Arial Verdana

Reset

Interval:

↓

↑

Bookmark:

Make

1234567...62

Copyright 2015 Sarah Marshank All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

ISBN (Print) 978-1-68222-814-2 (Ebook) 978-1-68222-815-9

I dedicate this book to my beloved husband, Steven, whose fierce love remains the cauldron within which I simmerthe soil from which I blossom.

Appreciation

Writing a memoir is an exercise in truth telling. Its a confrontational reckoning with ones transgressions and triumphsthe stuff of every human life. Converting the narrative of my life into story, and polishing the many drafts into art, has stretched me to develop a new form of creative expression. This experience has shaped me into an emerging writer. The journey has been a stunning pilgrimagenine years of unraveling, sorting, and crafting.

This book is a testimony to the virtue inherent in every life.

I could not have done it without the love and support of many.

My gratitude goes first to my mother. I must acknowledge her famously. It is through her womb that I was gestated into life, and through her generosity that I was raised in a home with plentiful food, clothing, educational opportunities, and love of the most rudimentary and exquisite sort: care. My representation of my mother in this book in less than wonderful light reflects my perception of her through the lens of who I was at the time and what I was capable of seeing. I trust you will take the journey with me as you read and discover how my perception of her changed because I changednot because she did. What a deep lesson and teaching this has been for me.

Next, I take a deep respectful bow to my beautiful step-daughter. I entered her life when she was eight and still in the sweetness of childhood. Though I did not feel ready or capable of being a parent, even a step one, she showed me I was worthy, even if imperfect. Her sensitive and generous heart continues to spur my own hearts opening.

My father died while I was writing this book, but I still feel his presence, supporting my success in every aspect of my life. Thanks, Dad.

The journey with my siblings and their families has been difficultevidence of the complexity of blood relationsand I am humbly grateful for their willingness to forgive and begin again. Especially my sister.

A special note of gratitude to my husbands family members, who have welcomed me fully into their hearts, especially my step-son and his wife, for their great kindness and love. And to Edie, Agnes, and Mae, because being Granni Sarah Rose is one of the most precious experiences of my life.

Many midwives helped me birth this book. For his steadfast support, creative talent, marketing genius and publicist powers, Im fabulously grateful for my friend Paul West. The book cover is his creation. My astute and loving writing coach Edith Friesen, who helped me stay with it when I wanted to give up, masterfully guiding the process and the content. My editors, Marilyn Simmonds-Cole, Julie Akins, and Jennifer Margulis for their keen eyes and ability to call forth the perfect sentence or word. My readers and writing partners, Cat Gould, Marga Laube, Jill Chitra, Donna Zerner, and Leslie Caplan for their valuable suggestions and loving support. My picky picky picky copy-editor Deborah-Miriam Leff. My dear sister of the heart and soul, Erin, for her steady and supportive presence. And an especially rich debt of gratitude to Kathryn Thomas for being steadfast in her generosity and impeccability as friend and editor.

I am grateful to Samfor providing me the opportunity to experience a decade of uninterrupted introspection, study, and devoted practice. His generosity was immense, and his injunction to sit down, shut up, and listen, has served me well.

I pay homage to all my teachers, some represented in this story, others unnamed. A special thank you to Jun Po and Marlies, dear friends and teachers who continue to be instrumental in the integration of my inner realization with my human life.

Finally, I extend my gratitude to you, the reader, for meeting me here, holding this book in your hand, ready to hear my story.

A Note to the Reader

An autobiography tells the story of a life, memoir tells a story from a life.

All accounts in this memoir are true to my memory.

Some events and characters are a blend of more than one.

All names have been changed except for

Steven, Jun Po, and Edie.

Contents

broken

Im pacing the perimeter of the abandoned tennis court behind my small secluded cottage in Bonny Doon, California. Im alone, hunched over, looking down at the deteriorating concrete beneath my bare feet. I wonder how it is that things fall apart. How it is that I am falling apart. Walking in circles helps calm the incessant chatter in my head. The rhythm of my stride generates welcome space between my thoughts.

I take advantage of the opening and ask for help.

Who are you asking?

I cant say for sure. I only know that if angels or guardian spirits or even a God exists, this is the time for one of them to show up.

Dont you think theyd have shown up by now?

Maybe Im not listening in the right way.

Or maybe you dont deserve their help.

Maybe you should shut up.

Are you going to have this baby or not?

I dont know!

Maybe youd better decide.

Id hate it if somebody else made this decision for me, but Im not doing a very good job of making it for myself. Despite being raised in a traditional Jewish home, I dont believe in any particular religious code of ethics. Im searching for my own sense of right and wrong.

A vision appears before me. Its a boy, roughly three years old, with skin the color of caramel. Golden curls frame his sweet face. He has my blue-green eyes. Theyre vivacious. I drop to my knees and reach for my child as he extends his arms towards me.

Were almost embracing when I notice his father, Malik, beside him. I freeze. Behind Malik stands his whole family. Strangers to me, they crowd together like an angry mob. Theyre African, wild and impossible for me to understand. I want to grab my son and run.

GO AWAY! I shout as I reach for my little boy. But they surround him and wont let me through.

I collapse beside the crumbling tennis court and cry. I wish my tears could wash away this entire mess and leave me free to get on with my life.

If only.

I roll onto my back and stare at the redwood forest surrounding me. This patch of land was cleared to build this tennis court almost forty years ago but the owners stopped maintaining it at some point. Now the forest is slowly reclaiming what was hers.

I roll onto my side.

I recognize the weed growing in front of my face.

Plantains great for skin irritations, my herbology teacher taught me. Chew it to a pulp, then place it on inflamed areas.

I want to rip it from the earth and plaster it on my brain. Console the hysteria plaguing my psyche like a rash gone rogue.

Get up.

I stand, brush the dirt off my soft cotton dress, and redo my ponytail. I continue pacing.

If I dont have this baby, then I can just get on with my life, continue along the path Ive been on.

Next page

1234567...62

Light

Font size:

↓

↑

Georgia Tahoma Arial Verdana

Reset

Interval:

↓

↑

Bookmark:

Make

Similar books «Being Selfish: My Journey from Escort to Monk to Grandmother»

Look at similar books to Being Selfish: My Journey from Escort to Monk to Grandmother. We have selected literature similar in name and meaning in the hope of providing readers with more options to find new, interesting, not yet read works.

Sarah Gillespie

Diary of Sarah Gillespie: A Pioneer Farm Girl

Sarah Ferguson

Finding Sarah: A Duchesss Journey To Find Herself

Sarah Thyre

Dark at the Roots

Sarah Thebarge

The Invisible Girls

Sarah Harding

Hear Me Out

Robert Gottlieb

Sarah: The Life of Sarah Bernhardt

Sarah Hurwitz

Finding Meaning, Spirituality, and a Deeper Connection to Life--in Judaism (After Finally Choosing to Look There)

Sarah Knight

F*ck No!: How to Stop Saying Yes When You Cant, You Shouldnt, or You Just Dont Want To (A No F*cks Given Guide Book 5)

Sarah Jakes Roberts

Dont Settle for Safe: Embracing the Uncomfortable to Become Unstoppable

Sarah Knight

You Do You

Sarah Knight

You do you : how to be who you are and use what you’ve got to get what you want

Sarah Cross

Dull Boy

Discussion, reviews of the book Being Selfish: My Journey from Escort to Monk to Grandmother and just readers' own opinions. Leave your comments, write what you think about the work, its meaning or the main characters. Specify what exactly you liked and what you didn't like, and why you think so.