So, there I was minding my own business when, from nowhere -- well, that's debatable -- I received "a sign" from The Universe to write about my Polish family's odyssey surviving Joseph Stalin's mass deportation of approximately 1 million Poles during the 1940s. You know, light stuff.
Reluctantly, I grabbed the spiritual baton being handed off to me several year ago. I interviewed family members more extensively, I tossed myself into seemingly endless research... and then I wrote (and rewrote and rewrote) Grace Revealed, which was released via NorLights Press earlier this year.
And then I went mad.
Well, I wouldn't call it "mad." Not in the sense that I went -- how do I put this? -- crazy. Actually, it was something just South of Crazy. Mood swingy. (Epigenetics, The Echo Effect, and the under-reported story of Stalin's terror can do that to a person...)
Where was I? Ah, yes. How I arrived at this point in time.
In the Spring of 2014, the Northern California newspaper at which I had been creative director and editor for 14 years, was bought out by a PacMan-type literary enterprise. Oh, it was a blessing in disguise really. (How many more commas, apostrophes and periods did I have to still babysit, after all?) At the time I thought: "What divine intervention is this? OK, I'll just finish the book about the Polish family that is due by the end of summer and venture forth."
And so... the odyssey began.
However, all the work I had been doing to secure myself as somebody of "prominence" -- somebody who had "arrived," somebody of "status" -- completely changed after that. In addition to being a newspaper editor, I wrote for national magazines, interviewing celebrities -- everyone from to Chelsea Handler and Joan Rivers to Cyndi Lauper and Anderson Cooper. I thought I had hit pay dirt. Perhaps I had fallen face first in it? Who knows. It was a festive time and I may return to it at some point. I did my best to illuminate the finer side of the entertainment industry and other agents of change in the world, however modern-day publishing had shifted so dramatically over the past decade. Writers weren't getting paid -- much. At all. And the constant grind of trying to "arrive" somewhere; trying to obtain enough "likes" for this and that; trying to acquire "enough" followers... here, there, everywhere...
I was exhausted. Somewhere along the way, in moving through my career, it ceased being "fun." Everything felt like maintenance. The spark, the innocence, the hope... began to fade.
And so, I did the most illogical thing a befuddled mid-lifer could do to boost his spirits -- delve into Stalin.
I threw myself into uncovering as much as I could about my Polish family's mind-bending journey and in the process, my travels took me to unexpected places: Menomonie, Wisconsin (to finish the book and yes, I, too, looked up the heavens and said: "Menomonie? Really? What the hell is happening?"); and then back home to Chicago (returning to family and launching the book... and to consume as many carbs as any middle-age Pole could); up and down and all around (and on couches), all around California (to promote the book during spring) only to get tossed out onto...
Well, let's back up a bit. And this is going to sound "very California," however allow me to explain: Back in March, during the bitter depths of cold and massive snowdrifts in Chicagoland, I received an email from "my former acupuncturist." (You see, that does sound truly Californian.) Anyway, the email came from out of the ethers. She needed somebody to house sit and oversee her young olive orchard in... Maui?
Maui. As in... Hawaii, Maui.
I was at a crossroads. I had an interview to become editor of a top glossy Southern California publication the following day. And then -- ping -- that email arrived: "Do you want to house sit in Maui?"
I remember looking up from my computer screen and saying, "Really, Universe? Maui?"
My ego chimed in: "But what about your 'career,' Mr. Archer?"
My soul shot back with: "GET YOUR POLISH ASS TO MAUI!"
My ego kept on: "What about... the rest of our life in the media? What about security?"
And then somewhere from the depths of my weary soul, I heard: "Thank you for sharing. Where's the website to Hawaiian Airlines?"
What can I say? I arrived on Maui -- lower Kula, in fact -- not that long ago. My belongings now take up rental space in a Central California storage unit. I did not just downsize -- I purged. And chased it back with a major leap of faith that somewhere along the line this new outing will make sense -- or not; that somewhere I may understand something deeper about home and place and who knows what? Maybe... just maybe, we do not need to be who we think society says we need to be. Maybe there's a bigger calling?
And so here I am -- to explore something other than "career," other than "arriving" OVER THERE so that my RIGHT HERE looks and feels better. (That never works by the way...)
Trust me, this is no simple feat. Having come from a family of Polish refugees, the subjects of "home" and "security" fascinate me. But I am determined to see this through for the three months I've been offered to do so.
The only thing I need to do next is, well, learn how to drive a butch-ish vehicle called a Polaris and drive out into the olive fields and begin... nursing the babies? Good God -- is there something these little creatures are supposed to teach me?
Stay tuned. More soon...
Mahalo!
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