One of the hardest things about moving to Traverse City was leaving behind a great community and great friends; lifelong friends who we grew up with, and whose kids have grown up with ours. We’re committed to maintaining and growing these friendships despite our move, although we know it will take work to be out of sight, but not out of mind. Fortunately many of our friends from “back home” spend a lot of time Up North, so that makes it easier to maintain those bonds even though we’re not steeped in their everyday lives like we used to be. There’s nothing like the intimate comfort of picking right up where you left off with an old friend, but we know that it’s something that cannot be taken for granted.

The flipside is building new friendships in a new place. And a tricky balance to strike – especially when work and family demand so much of our time – is keeping up with old friends while trying to meet new ones.

One of our apprehensions about moving to a small town was the expectation that most of the people we’d meet would be “lifers” who grew up here and already had broad networks of friends, and as a result would have little interest in, or time to, add to to their networks. It’s been a pleasant surprise that many of the people we’ve met are relative newcomers like us. While Traverse City has a vibrant economy, most of these people are not here as a result of a job opportunity they couldn’t pass up. Rather they’ve figured out how to build a career around the life they’re building for themselves and their families.

“It goes so fast.”

“This is the best age.”

If you have small kids, you’ve heard this advice from other parents – oftentimes complete strangers – who have adult children. It’s typically unsolicited, and doled out in a public place in the midst of a tantrum.

“Enjoy them now – it doesn’t get any easier.”

You nod and smile politely, thanking the elder for such sage advice as you drag your little one by the arm from the restaurant or store while whispering threats through clenched teeth about taking away treats or TV. You sense, but ignore, the disapproving glances of onlookers as the tantrum intensifies. A smile on your face, fire in your belly.

You’re soaked with perspiration after battling your child into her car seat. It’s like a scene out of one of those Discovery Channel fishing shows where a burly crewman struggles to haul a giant bluefin tuna into the boat.

Click! Sigh.

A friend and I attended a National Writers Series event this week at the Traverse City Opera House. New York Times bestselling author James Rollins was here to talk about his latest book, Bone Labyrinth. 

It was an interesting and informative night (as NWS events always are – more about that in an upcoming post), and Rollins talked about how, with no formal writing training or education, he decided he wanted to become a writer after 15 years working as a veterinarian. How he had to persevere through 49 rejection letters before his first novel was picked up by a publisher. And how, 32 novels and 7 million copies sold later, his writing process is much the same as when he started.

He also spoke about his research process. He weaves elaborate tales mixing scientific and historical fact and fiction in his books, requiring him to do quite a bit of research for each book. But not too much. He spends 90 days researching, then gets to writing. After 90 days, Rollins said, “I need to get words on the page.”

If left to his own devices and without this 90 day cut-off, he explained, all he would do is research and he’d never write the book.

This got me thinking: Aren’t there broader implications to this? Isn’t this the reason that some people, like Rollins, can publish 32 novels, and most of us can never get the first word on a page? Why do we get inspired to start something – a book, a business, a workout routine – and then get stuck?

And I concluded: There’s a purgatory between sloth and achievement. It’s where ideas fade and dreams die. It’s called the internet.