THE DON

It’s a man! It’s a caricature! It’s a writer of seemingly everyday-turned-life-changing-ideas! It’s The Don!

Folks, this blog is just a skoach voyeuristic for you, for I, Kara, Master of What?, am writing a post dedicated to one Mr. Donald Miller, memoirist and inspiration. Consider this my warning that you may need to look away, blushing, at my all-out gratitude for The Don and his book, A Million Miles in a Thousand Years. In fact, people, please stop reading this post this instant and go get the book. For reals. It’s that good. I know a myriad of different folks who’ve read it and have all had a similar response: it’s powerful–I mean it. All joking aside. 

Aannnnd… we’re back.

The Don wrote a story about a story about the story. Follow? A Million Miles has to do with looking at life as a series of plot events with a greater meaning. (For an actor-turned-English-teacher, this stuff is like crack, I must tell you.) It’s like I’ve told my students for years: you’re the protagonist (hero); whether or not you’re aware of it is the question. You meet with conflict and in fact your character (puns of all kinds intended) needs that conflict to grow. Hopefully, in living out our own life stories, we’re able to affect other people’s stories in a positive way.

(How am I doing, Don? By the way, should you venture down the rabbit trails/links within this post, you’ll find you’ve inspired me a great deal. You’ll also get some key parts of my story. So please, please, please give in to the sojourns!)

Anywho, The Don is also taking this idea of story to the streets/his blog. And he challenged his audience to write a blog explaining why he/she/me should win a trip to Portland (never been, yet) to attend his seminar on Living a Better Story. Here are some more tidbits on the competition and seminar:

Living a Better Story Seminar from All Things Converge Podcast on Vimeo.

www.donmilleris.com/conference

So I’ve himmed and I’ve hawed for weeks, and now I’m just gonna go ahead and toss my hat into the ring–at the very last minute. But The Don be forewarned: I have terrible aim.

So Don–this one’s going out to you… (Please pick me to come to your seminar. I’m not nearly as much of a whackadoodle as I will no doubt come across in this here blog.)

“What’s my motivation? My through line? What does the character want out of this scene?”

That was the first act of my life, the one spent as an actor.

The second act was me teaching literature and entailed me challenging my students to find the plot line in novels AND in their own lives (i.e., You’re the protagonist and should make choices with that awareness, and by the way, don’t listen to booty music because it exploits women like your mama and grandmama, yada, yada, yada). You know, good stuff for the adolescent crowd.

(By the way, the bit in the book about your friend and his teenage daughter rebelling changed my teaching and will definitely shape my parenting of O and Ro. The insight of that father–whew!)

Despite thinking about plot and story for years, I can honestly say that I hadn’t truly applied the idea of story to my own life until around the first of this year. The hubs and I had been through a lot of life changes in the last year, and we wanted to revisit goals, mission statements, etc. My friend Suzanne, a member of my “tribe” , sent out an email linking to your blog; the post was about applying narrative to goals. Fleshing them out, so to speak, and giving them context, so that maybe, just maybe, they might come into fruition this year. Perhaps you remember it, Don?

I know I do. It was like a light was switched on, but  in my heart. What had seemed mundane and even like drudgery in my life now had new meaning. The things I felt like God had been whispering to me now became a thumping in my chest. God really spoke to me through your blog and ultimately through your book.

Of course, you know how plot structure works; I had to experience some things before I was ready to act on what God had been saying. I had met with an inciting incident which created quite a tizzy of a conflict. In short, I had received a terrible diagnosis that lead to a physical representation of Paul on the Road to Damascus–literally. I’ve said it before, but it warrants saying again: my inciting incident is not my story–it was my call into action. I won’t gloss over it either and say it was all sunshine and butterflies. My diagnosis rocked my world. It broke me to the very core of who I was, and it allowed the dead man to fall away. 

Enter the conflict. So now I was finally at that pliable place where I could face my conflict: to live crippled by what a diagnosis might mean, or finally live out what I believe God had been saying for some time: write. Say something. 

Which brings me to the present. No more exposition. My health (which is currently better than it’s been in years) and the strong leading to move away from teaching have brought me to the place where I took a step a faith and resigned.

It’s true. And in this economy. The thing is, sometimes if we don’t step out in faith we’re just being disobedient. After eight years of teaching (which was great for awhile), of struggling with the tugging and the pulling and the nudging, it was time. I’m humbled to say I get paid to write daily as a freelance writer. It’s just the beginning, but it’s been steadily developing. It’s amazing how many ways the decision to resign has been confirmed. And I’m finally at peace… sort of.

Now I just need some help figuring out what on earth I’m supposed to “say.” I’m ready for my next act.

Which brings me to Portland. I hope.

Regardless of whether or not I get the opportunity to meet you in September, Don, your book has been life-changing and life-giving. It’s a privilege to be able to tell you myself. Thanks for being such a humble and willing protagonist and for sharing your own story with the rest of us. For sharing it with me. 

P.S. There are a lot of women here in Nashville who are quite taken with you. At the very mention of my love of your book, there is an instant “SWOON!” on the lips of many a single lady in Music City. All that to say, you have a gift, so please, go easy on these poor women! I doubt my stunningly realistic rendering of you will help in this matter, Super Don.