Mapping My Way Home by Stephanie Urdang

Author:Stephanie Urdang
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: New York University Press
Published: 2017-03-18T04:00:00+00:00

20 — “Now I Need to Believe in Myself”

I am once again in New York. With a specific task ahead, I feel more rooted. The re-entrance is smoother. I try to put Tonio out of my mind, but it takes a while for the rawness to heal. I find an apartment to share, set up a desk in my room, and settle in to make sense of my notes, transcribing tapes, figuring out A Book. I support myself through writing articles and as a guest lecturer at universities and colleges all over the United States, in both African Studies and the Women’s Studies departments. I talk at meetings of feminists, solidarity activists, and whoever else in interested.

My first presentation is arranged by Suzette at a women’s center in Brooklyn. In the car on the way there, she shows me the flyer she designed for the event. It is striking and professional, the sort of flyer announcing someone with important, erudite things to say. I am nervous enough and somehow this flyer threatens to do me in.

The smallish room is jam-packed with about seventy women sitting on chairs, cross-legged on the floor, leaning against the walls—all looking eagerly at me, ready to take in what I will say. I launch into my talk, picturing the women I have interviewed, the scenery, the long walks, my interactions with Teodora and other leaders, and after a few stumbles I find myself speaking effortlessly from the pictures in my head. I come to the end. The applause is spontaneous and sustained, the questions from the audience show real interest, the vibes are positive—what a relief! Gail and Suzette hug me and proclaim the event a great success. But on the ride back home Suzette asks, “What was wrong with the flyer? Why didn’t you like it?” There is hurt in her voice.

“It’s wonderful!” I reply. “It just scared the living hell out of me!” We can laugh now that the talk is over. I will find that I never overcome my pretalk nervousness, those proverbial butterflies fluttering about in my stomach. More like a swarm of bees trying to escape my chest than delicate butterflies.. Once I launch in, the apprehension usually dissipates. I once admitted this to Prexy Nesbitt, a good friend in the movement who had arranged a series of talks in Chicago. “If you were not nervous, I would be worried,” he says, speaking from his own experience. “The nervousness comes with a rush of adrenalin that gives spark to your talk. Without it you could succumb to blandness.”

In the ensuing months I refine my talk, adjust it for different audiences, and find myself enjoying my role as a lecturer and storyteller. By the end of the year I have settled down to seriously work on my book. I start. I stumble. I write. I am done in by massive writer’s blocks. I question why I ever thought I could write a book. I question my sanity. What I can’t do is quit.

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