“The moment that you
feel that, just possibly, you’re walking down the street naked, exposing too
much of your heart and your mind and what exists on the inside, showing too
much of yourself. That’s the moment you may be starting to get it right.” ~
Neil Gaiman
I hadn’t really thought of myself as a writer.
I’d only begun creating poetry and essays to help me through
my divorce and eating disorder recovery in 2009. A year later, I began the
journey into my own sexuality. 2011 saw the birth of my blog, ‘The Orgasmic
Life’ (previously called ‘Returning Saturn,’ in order to honor the lessons from
the painful events in my 28th year). And then in February 2012, inspired
by an off-hand suggestion from my then boyfriend (now fiancé), I sent ‘Anorexia and the Mother Shadow’ to elephantjournal.com.
At first, I was thrilled any major online magazine would
even look at my writing, let alone publish it.
That one article led to another, then another, then
another—until something new, vibrant and very, very tender arose: that part of
my soul that yearned to be a ‘writer.’
So when Karl Saliter asked if he could interview me for his
piece on How the Top-Earning elephantjournal.com Writers Strike it Rich, I was
more than surprised—I was humbled (see full
interview at the bottom of this article).
It also made me wonder, “Am I now officially a writer? And
if so, how does that impact where the rest of my life is headed?”
I write and people read. That’s a fact. I coach and people
work with me. That’s also true. Despite my putting no attention on my acting
career since moving to the Bay Area, I still managed to do a play reading, an
audition class and a short film last year.
And I’m getting married. Again.
I live in San Francisco, someplace I thought I would hang
for three months tops—a layover on
the way to Los Angeles. Fifteen months later, I’m still here. Before that, I
had a thirteen-year love affair with New York City, living the life of a
theatre actress/yoga teacher. But I’m a southerner at heart—born and raised in
Atlanta, with a two-year childhood pit stop in Germany nestled in between ages
5 to 7.
I think this is what we call an ‘identity crisis.’
If I keep writing, does that mean I’ll never perform again?
Will I lose my love of coaching, like I did for teaching yoga? Why am I still
living in a city that still sometimes seems like a ‘friend with benefits’ vs.
‘the one’?
I want to feel at home. I want to have it all figured out,
god damn it! I’m 32 years old; aren’t I supposed to be a responsible adult by
now, with a 401k and a mortgage and health insurance and a baby on the way (or
at least an attention-demanding pet)?
Nope. I’m just here. Shifting. Morphing. Experimenting.
And you know what? To my surprise, that’s OK.
If I waited to have things ‘figured out’ before taking
action, I’d still be living at my mother’s house, drooling and in diapers.
All of life is one high school science lab. The experiences
we face become the lessons we learn. The mistakes we make become the glimpses
through the cracks of our souls’ armor. Love in face of hatred. Compassion in
the face of anger. Vulnerability in the face of grief.
And faith in the face of doubt. I’m not talking about faith
in God or religion (unless that’s your thing). I am talking about faith in yourself,
or as Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. says, “Taking the first step, even when you
don’t see the whole staircase.” Faith in your power. Faith in your dreams. Faith
in your strength. Faith in your innate genius, intuition and intelligence.
Faith and courage
to open your heart to that which is most precious to you—even if you stand to
lose it all.
That is the level of faith we are talking about—and if we
are bold enough to admit the sheer magnificence of our dreams, then the price
for walking that path demands no less than everything.
It’s not easy. Living this way is often frightening,
humiliating, strange and painful.
Yet it’s also glorious, exciting, adventurous and deeply
gratifying.
And, ultimately, that uncertainty is what aliveness means to me. Anything else
feels like waiting at the bus stop for death.
So here I sit. In the middle of living—figuring it all out or not figuring it all out or whatever
the hell it is we are doing here on earth.
So thank you life, for challenging me to grow beyond my
edges.
Thank you faith, for reminding me that I don’t have to have
it all ‘figured out’ in order to enjoy the ride.
And thank you readers, for supporting these words and for playing
a vital role on my journey.
In faith,
Candice Holdorf
Karl Saliter: What part about being an
elephant writer has been a surprise benefit?
Candice Holdorf: The surprise benefit of writing
for elephantjournal has been threefold: One—the massive level of readership EJ
has cultivated. I've never imagined my work being read on such a wide scale.
Two—the quality of the audience. The kind of people EJ attracts has an open
mind, an ability to discourse intelligently and respond to my work with respect
and honesty. What I write can be a little far out and sometimes hard to hear.
EJ readers are in a class like none other. Three—a shift in personal
perception. In the past, I thought of myself more as an actress/yogi with an
interest in sexuality and writing. Writing for EJ has totally changed that.
Whereas I previously felt limited in my goals and creative outlets, I now see
that I have a LOT more to offer the world than I thought. And I see, too, that
I am big enough to hold all these desires—in fact I feel stifled if I'm not
nurturing all these parts of my creative self.
KS: What questions do you ask yourself before you hit
"submit for review?"
CH: The main question I ask myself before
submitting anything is "How does this sound to my ears?" I have no
doubt that what I write is my own personal truth, but if it the melody is off,
no one will hear the music. Sometimes it's a mellifluous flute; sometimes it's
a discordant clang. But either way, the sound must reflect the feeling I want
to share—otherwise it's just words on a page.
KS: What do readers who want to write need to know?
CH: Readers who want to write should just start
writing. Even if the next day you look at the page and think, "Dear God
what was that drivel that came out of me," it doesn't matter. You have to
turn on the creative faucet and allow what wants to flow to flow. I made a
personal vow in 2007 to start writing three, hand-written pages a day of
whatever just wanted to come out of me and I've stuck to this religiously. Mind
you, most of these musings are probably not fit for print, but a lot of amazing
ideas and insights came from this practice. After time, you will then discover
your voice, your distinctive tone and what issues matter to you.
KS: What's next on your creative plate?
CH: Well, right now I have three books in mind.
One is an e-book filled with poetry and real life stories from my personal
erotic diary. I'd also love to get some photos of me in there posing as various
female archetypes. Another book is more of a self-help book that links
cultivating a connection with hunger and orgasm to healing oneself from
anorexia, which I struggled with for over seven years. The third book is more
of a memoir of my life—but I still have quite a bit more living to do before
this one gets to a publisher. In fact, one of the chapters is called 'India,'
which will be based on my upcoming travels this February to the Kumbh Mela.
In the long run, I'd love to co-write and act in
films that explore taboo subjects and find the healing that comes with total
acceptance of that which we deem shameful. Of course sex is a huge part of
this, but I also want to include eating disorders and addictions of all kinds.
I am writing an article now about how porn can actually be used for good. This
is in stark contrast to the seedy scenes of men entering peep shows and porn
stars depicted as sad and vacant shells of girls searching for daddy. This kind
of paradoxical thinking turns me on and I believe it is essential to our
spiritual growth as compassionate beings.
