I feel like a little speck of dust floating alone in the universe
I've been meaning to ask Laura Davis
I’ve been meaning to ask you is an interview series where Kathryn Mockler invites people to answer questions on being human
Kathryn Mockler: What is your first memory of existing?
Laura Davis: My first memory of existing is of being born too soon, forced through the birth canal, torn away from the arms of my identical twin sister into the cold, bright, unimaginable world. I weighed 2 pounds, 12 ounces, decades before babies that small regularly survived. They whisked me into an Isolette with tubes up my nose, wires on my skin, untouched for six weeks as I struggled to survive. I wanted to leave, to join my sister, whom I never saw again, but part of me was meant to be here. There was something I was supposed to do and so I stayed. My mother kept me in this world through sheer force of her will. I tell this story in the opening scene of my memoir, The Burning Light of Two Stars. And although I can’t say I remember my birth in the traditional way we remember things, my body has never forgotten it. And looking back from the perspective of 68 years, I’d have to say that this experience shaped my spiritual and emotional life more than anything else. It was foundational.
KM: What is your first memory of being creative?
LD: I grew up in an incredibly creative home and for that I am extremely grateful. My father was a music teacher, and we had a baby grand piano in our living room with more than a dozen different musical instruments stored under it: accordions, clarinets, flutes, a trumpet, a French horn, a piccolo, and a few more. I never learned to play any of them, but my house was infused with music. My father was in a recorder ensemble that practiced in our living room, and I’d sit on the top of the steps, out of sight in my footsie pajamas, listening to the wonderful melodies. My mother was an actor in community theatre. She always played the leading roles, and I helped her learn her lines lying on the big bed upstairs at 255 Park Avenue. I always memorized the scripts before she did: Death of a Salesman, The Tenth Man, The Crucible. Classic dramas. I spent many nights silk screening and making woodcuts with my dad in the basement. We were always creating. I was read thousands of books, we always made up stories as a family, and we always sang in the car. My creativity was celebrated and cherished. My writing was supported from the time I was eight and composed my first short story. Creative expression and encouragement were two great gifts of my childhood.
KM: Do you have a preferred emotion to experience? What is it and why? Or is there an emotion that you detest having and why?
LD: Awe, of course. That amazing feeling of oneness when I’m out deep in the natural world. Knowing in my cells that I am connected to everything. Feeling that deep union with all that is, so far away from the usual confines of my busy, worrying, planning mind. My least favorite emotion is anxiety, a visitor I have known most of my life. Anxiety is the opposite of awe. When I feel anxious, I feel like a little speck of dust floating alone in the universe, as separate and isolated as I was as a tiny preemie in that incubator.
KM: Can you recount a time (that you're willing to share) when you were embarrassed?
LD: In seventh grade PE class, we had a huge gymnasium with three electric folding doors that separated one area of the gym from another, so that several different classes could meet simultaneously. They were like accordions folding toward the center on a set track until they clicked tightly together in the middle, creating a sealed wall. One day, I was wearing my poofy green cotton bloomers, our gym uniform, and I rode one of the walls as it began its inexorable path toward the center. I didn’t hop out in time and was pinned in the middle, half my body and face in one gym, half my body in the other. I think that was my worst moment of embarrassment because of my age. The other instance that comes to mind is when I got a tampon stuck inside me at 15 and I had to ask my mother to come pull it out. That was traumatic for both of us.
KM: What do you cherish most about this world?
LD: My family. My wife. My three children. My three grandchildren. My dearest friends. The ocean. The woods. That I can walk. That I can see. That I can hear. That I can think. That I have the capacity to create. Bald eagles. Schools of fish when I’m scuba diving. The silent awe that follows a powerful piece of writing read in one of my classes—that deep human connection when the truth is spoken. Laughter. Campfires. A good home-cooked meal. Shopping for and cooking that meal. Card games. Mahjong. Rumiqub. Trees. Swimming. A good hike. A great novel. My brother, the last member of my nuclear family, whom I have finally learned to truly love. A good TV show to binge on, but not too often. The movies. A perfectly made morning cup of tea. Obviously, I could go on and on. Thankfully, today, the things I have to cherish outweigh the many things there are to grieve.
KM: What would you like to change about this world?
LD: I’d like to see the greed and cruelty pervading our current politics transform into deep concern and empathy for all people, all creatures and the planet. I want compassion, not hate, to prevail. Right now that seems like a pipe dream, but we have to keep envisioning and creating the world we want to see. If I can’t see this change in my lifetime, I want to work toward it for my children and grandchildren, for all children.
KM: What advice would you give to your younger self? Your younger self could be you at any age.
LD: “Oh, sweetheart, you’re going to be okay.”
KM: If you could send your love to anyone, who would it be and why?
LD: The people of Gaza who are being starved and annihilated right now as I write these words.
KM: Tell me about your latest project.
LD: I take writers around the world on cultural adventures that spark awe, creativity and deep relaxation. In August, I’m bringing a group to Bali to study Balinese spirituality and meet with Balinese healers. We’ll be exploring three diverse “back roads” areas of Bali, meeting with artisans, hiking through coffee and clove plantations, experiencing the transformation that occurs when immersing in a culture that celebrates sacred creativity. And of course, we’ll be writing every day—writing together creates an intimate traveling community and gives people the opportunity to digest and integrate their experiences. This is my tenth time taking writers to Bali—obviously I feel a deep affinity for the stunning beauty and spiritual power of that island and its people. There are two final spots left on this trip. Learn More About The Healing Heart of Bali:
Laura Davis is the author of The Burning Light of Two Stars, the award-winning story of her loving, tumultuous relationship with my mother, and six other non-fiction books. Her first book, The Courage to Heal, paved the way for hundreds of thousands to heal from the trauma of sexual abuse. Becoming the Parent You Want to Be helped parents develop a vision for the families they want to create. I Thought We'd Never Speak Again: The Road from Estrangement to Reconciliation taught the skills of reconciliation and peace building, one relationship at a time.
In addition to writing books that inspire, the work of Laura’s heart is to teach. For more than twenty-five years, she’s helped people find their voices, tell their stories, and hone their craft. She loves creating writing communities online and in person at writing retreats in beautiful locations in the US and around the world.
Laura is also a fanatic for travel so a couple of times a year, she takes writers traveling. In the past 13 years, she’s taken groups to Vietnam, Laos, Cambodia, Bali, Scotland, Greece, Peru, Tuscany and hiking the Camino de Santiago in Spain.
Laura has been published in Publisher's Weekly, Writer's Digest, CrimeReads, Brevity, and The New York Times, featured in the Los Angeles Review of Books, and have been an engaging guest on QWERTY, Write-Minded, and dozens of other podcasts. She’s been a featured speaker for The National Association of Memoir Writers and a popular craft teacher at The San Miguel Writer's Conference.
When she’s not teaching or traveling, you’ll find her hanging out with her wife Karyn and their yellow lab, Luna, in Santa Cruz, California: hiking, savoring the natural world, seeing friends, cooking new recipes, playing cards, mahjong, swimming, and loving up her grandchildren. Her latest passion is photography, and she loves integrating her nature photos with her writing her on Substack.
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