There are two kinds of delays in life: the ones that happen to our flights, and the ones that happen to our writing. Occasionally—just to keep things interesting—both happen at the same time.
Last Thursday, I flew to Oklahoma with the noble goal of spending time with my sister and catching an Oklahoma City Thunder game. Simple mission, clean itinerary, tightly packed schedule. And then came the winter storm. And the Arctic blast. And the sort of meteorological chaos that makes anchors on the Weather Channel chuckle because they know you’re not going anywhere.
My return flight was promptly delayed. Then postponed. Then canceled. Then postponed again. At some point, United Airlines stopped bothering me with new estimates and simply whispered, “Good luck, Jeremiah.” Meanwhile, my carefully planned writing slot—centered on a new memoir chapter titled “Shai Gilgeous-Alexander”—also got delayed.
That chapter was supposed to be brilliant. It was supposed to be punchy. It was supposed to be completed by now. Instead, it has become one of those dreamy future things, floating around somewhere between inspiration and intention, waving politely like a friend who keeps saying “Soon!” but never actually shows up.
But here’s the thing about memoir writing: delays aren’t failures, they’re seasoning.
Ask anyone who has ever tried to write their life story (or anyone else’s). Real life laughs at deadlines. Life throws winter storms into your schedule or gifts you an Arctic blast that adds two extra days to your Oklahoma trip. Sometimes writing gets postponed because we’re busy accumulating the material that will make the writing worth it.
And in my case, the universe offered a bonus.
I got to attend one additional Thunder game that wasn’t on my calendar. Not only that—I landed a seat behind the Thunder bench, lower level, at a discount that made me double-check SeatGeek to make sure there wasn’t a typo. The vantage point was unbelievable; I could practically see the individual molecules of concentration on the players’ faces. If there were ever a perfect research opportunity for a memoir chapter named Shai Gilgeous-Alexander, that was it. Call it fate. Or procrastination disguised as field work.
So yes, my chapter is delayed. My schedule is delayed. My writing plan is delayed. But I gained a better story. And that’s the secret delight of memoir work: the best pages are often the ones life forces you to write later, after life has given you something new to say.
So if your writing is delayed—whether by weather, or work, or an unexpected Thunder game—let it be delayed. Life is just handing you more material. More detail. More texture. More to remember, and therefore more to write.
Delayed doesn’t mean denied. It just means you’re still living the part worth putting on the page.
And with that, my chapter awaits. Soon. For real this time. Probably.
