Haven Home for the Holidays

Maybe you’d like to write your way through the holiday season…

Maybe you’re alone. Maybe your elderly loved ones are alone. Maybe you’re quarantined and can’t get home for the holidays. Maybe you’ve lost loved ones to Covid. Maybe you suddenly have a house full of people and you’re worried about getting sick. Maybe you’ve been home-schooling for months and want to keep traditions alive but aren’t sure how. Maybe you’ve never felt more relief from your previously fast-paced life and you’ve been in your pajamas for nine months. And like it that way. In any case, we all have some form of pandemic fatigue. And I have help for you here because I can relate with all of the above. I’ll start with a personal story. Because I’ve learned: when we tell our stories, it invites others to do the same. I invite you to do the same.

For eight years I have had the utter honor of leading my various Haven Writing Programs in Montana, at a ranch on a square mile of sacred, pristine, land near Glacier National Park. And in some cases, in my home. People have come to Haven from all over the world and from so many demographics, thanks to my various payment plans and scholarships. People have come to find their voices, to write books, to find the words they have longed for all their lives, to be led, held, supported. They come to wander in their words. And they do. It has been the definition of grace to see what happens for these seekers in just five days.

Covid has changed Haven. At least for now. And I miss it dearly. Every single time I say goodbye to these groups of kindreds, connected now in such a profound and lasting way…there is a deep grief in my heart. People whisper in my ear as we hug on the front steps, “You do realize that this just changed my life.” And every single time I hold back tears, knowing that it is true, and knowing that it isn’t about me as much as about the program, the place, the ranch and its loving staff, and the people who have the courage to say yes to this thing called Haven Writing Programs.

When Covid hit, smack dab in the middle of my book tour for my new novel Willa’s Grove and I had to cancel the second half of it, I sat in the airport on March 13^th realizing that not only were those events impossible to safely do…but that the rest of my 2020 Haven schedule might just have to be canceled too. And it was. I was in shock and I knew I had to process it. I had given eight years to all things Haven and all things Willa’s Grove, which was inspired by Haven. So one thing was for sure: this grief wasn’t going to just process itself on its own. Grief needs ritual. If you’ve ever lost a loved one, you know that.

When I came home that March day, like so many of us, I knew I had to find some sort of ritual to let go of both of these major losses. I knew I had that skill set. I teach it after all. So like everybody else, I bought beans and rice, and sheltered in place, confused and disoriented. And I decided to use my Haven closing ritual to “close” both the tour, and Haven Writing Workshops and Writing Retreats for 2020. I want to share my ritual with you here because I want to help. We need ritual. Especially over the holidays.

So many of us have had to let go of the lives we created and planned for in 2020. And there’s nothing like a holiday that shines a light on gratitude, giving, and pause to remind us that we need to process and ritualize our losses and loves.

Here is my personal Haven Writing Workshop closing ritual. Use it well. I hope it helps:

Part I:  

(and you can do this with any sort of water in any sort of vessel for any sort of loved one that you want to honor, release, accept, bless, observe, remember)

• In our closing circle on the last night of Haven, I tell each group that after they leave the next day, I will go to the small lake at the ranch, which is always such a character on the retreat—with migrating geese and sunny places for reflection, swimming, canoeing, late night star gazing…and lie on the dock.I will then dip my hand into the water and make a swirl, saying their name, thinking about their breakthroughs and unique voices, their writing, their stories, their sorrows and joys…and then the next and the next. Even if it is in the middle of winter and the lake is icy, I still do this, swirling them into a ripple. And in that closing circle I tell them also that they will be rippling here in Montana forever. There are often tears in that circle, and always tears the next day, as I lie on my belly on the dock, sending them off with so much love and gratitude. At the end of it all, once I have reflected and rippled for each of my now Haven alums…I dip both hands into the water and send the ripples across the lake and say, “Travel well, you beautiful seekers. You beautiful writers. Travel well.” Then I watch as the ripples become small waves and travel across the lake until they lap up on the other shore and settle back to calm. And then I flip over on my back and lie there feeling so full. So grateful. So exhausted in all the best ways.

Part II:

(this part of my closing Haven process is one that beautifully balances Part I. And you can do it right where you are.)

• After I leave the ranch, I have a tradition of going home to a cozy nook, not looking at my mail or my email or the dust that has collected while I’ve been gone…and spending an hour or two writing about how grateful I am for each person. After you’ve had such a powerful time with fellow word wanderers, it’s important to be quite deliberate about it. Like with birth, like with death, you need to go slowly and carefully when you come off of an experience like that, especially when you are holding the space for a group. I think of Haven like a nest. I’ve had the honor of migrating to a safe and inspiring place, building the nest, and holding the eggs. They have hatched themselves and fledged. And I need to process it through the tool we’ve been working with so intensely for five days: the written word. My chosen way. What I trust perhaps more than anything in the way of processing this beautiful and heartbreaking thing called life.

Part III:

• And then I have a steak for some reason. Just a steak— likely having something to do with having just eaten the most wholistic, organic, local, mostly-meatless, gorgeous love-made meals for five days. Take a long bath. And go to bed early. This last part feels a lot like Thanksgiving. In fact, all of it feels a lot like Thanksgiving. And the whole holiday season.

Wherever you are in this holiday, season please create healing, soul-searching, burden-releasing ritual. Water and writing help.

And while I can’t lead my Montana Haven writing retreats and writing workshops right now…the very good news is this: I have created an eight week online course called Haven Home which will launch this January. It is filled with the spirit of my live Haven programs, yet very different in content. Along with the weekly video which includes both writing and teaching time…it will also be a private thriving community with extra teaching, writing prompts, and a weekly live one hour forum with industry moguls who will give people so much on so many levels from writing wellness to publishing industry acumen. I truly cannot wait. I need it. We all need it, we word wanderers. And if you are reading this…you are just that. Please join me. Sign up for my newsletter to learn more! Or go here. We’ll create a nest together even if we’re far apart.

Yours,

Laura