Today we’d like to introduce you to Nan McKernon
Hi Nan, thanks for joining us today. We’d love for you to start by introducing yourself.
I was born and raised in the Northeast and my family had a second home on Lake Keowee in the upstate, which is how I fell in love with the South Carolina. I was adopted at fifteen months old and raised an only child, though I learned later in life that I have six half-siblings by my biological father (neither biological parent raised me, my adoption was closed), a few whom I grew quite close to in adulthood. My parents were an older WASP-y couple and my dad, to whom I was closest, was a sales executive and frequent international traveler and Mom stayed home with me until I was in elementary school when she became an office manager for a private physician group. Mom has obsessive-compulsive disorder, which manifested through a deep need to control, especially her environment, which made things challenging. Every space on our home was meticulously decorated and maintained. Except for my bedroom closet, which was the foundation for my love of creative nonfiction and storytelling. It was my first private journal of sorts. The backs of my closet doors – unfinished wood sliders – served as my first writing canvas. I spent hours in the privacy of that space writing on the doors, in layers of permanent marker atop pen atop pencil. I am sure whoever bought my childhood home were shocked if those doors were ever removed.
I earned my BA in Communications from Simmons College in Boston where I lived for a decade. My first full-time job in Boston was as a copywriter/ad setter for an advertising agency; I wrote help wanted ads when they used to appear in the newspaper, carefully laying them out on my Macintosh tower computer perched on a desk not much nicer than a folding table. My career ebbed and flowed over the years once my two children were born. They were my priority, so I had ‘good jobs’ that allowed me to work around their schedules instead of a single, steady, career path. From marketing communications to new business development, writing and creating narratives were integral parts of my professional life.
It was a memoir-writing workshop that changed my trajectory. At the end of the six-week session the facilitator, a Broadway playwright, told me she thought I had ‘a gift not to be wasted’ and had I ever considered writing as a full-time career? It was not lucrative, of course, but she believed there was an audience for my voice. On the precipice of divorce, the idea was laughable to me – who doesn’t want to publish the next great American novel, get ‘the’ call from Oprah, and spend six months touring the country on book tours? And how many achieve it? But as we unpacked the options I realized the education I needed to formally label myself a writer could be a salvation; I needed financial stability as I faced divorce yet wanted to be accessible to my two children. So I applied to graduate school to earn an MFA in creative and professional writing, a terminal degree, to hone my craft and work toward a tenure-track professorship at one of the many colleges in the Northeast. The flexibility would work as a single mother and the financial stability would keep my trio afloat. If only it were that easy.
A life spent in corporate America does not translate seamlessly to higher education. I adored working with students but academia is its own sub-culture, one in which I was outcast; these were not ‘my people’. Those who had been in higher education the entirety of their careers seemed to be oblivious to the realities of life beyond the ivy-covered walls. So, after many years, several adjunct positions across different schools and passing on a coveted adjunct fellowship at a prestigious university, I took my well-honed writing skills and new degree back to corporate America and started writing professionally. The best things I took from my time in academics were my students, many who I am still in touch with, and the Great Books summer program to which I was recommended by the chair of the English department at Quinnipiac University. Great Books is an immersive residential summer program for middle and high school students interested in the arts; I have been an Academic Director for the writing intensive with the program at Amherst College since 2019. I spend 1-2 weeks there with tweens (my favorite group) and teens interested in writing. I am reminded why dorm life (particularly the saltine-like twin mattresses and lack of air conditioning) is for the young, yet the experience with the campers and the close staff relationships lure me back every year.
My first essay was published in 2015 by Brain, Child magazine, once home to well-known authors Cheryl Strayed, Ann Hood, and Barbara Ehrenreich to name a few. Brain, Child and their special annual publication Brain, Teen became a home for my work for many years and I feel privileged to have been part of the magazine before it was absorbed by Creative Nonfiction magazine and ultimately retired. Marcelle Soviero, the Editor-in-Chief at that time, became a writing mentor and valued friend. My first (very small! No call from Oprah!) paychecks from that time still adorn my office wall. Memoir Magazine picked up my essay ‘What to Wear to Bankruptcy Court’ and then my personal publishing efforts halted so I could focus on advancing my full-time professional opportunities.
Grant writing was my first fully paid professional job which evolved into nonprofit messaging which further evolved into nonprofit communications planning and execution which eventually led me to a senior leadership position at a healthcare nonprofit in Western Connecticut. My work for them earned me a Telly Award, a marketing award complete with a silver statuette perched high on my office shelf, for an original story I wrote as a fundraising tool. The story was turned into a digital animated story narrated by theatre and TV star Caroline Lagerfelt (who was a consummate professional and lovely person). This foray into healthcare is what led me to my current role as a writer and Sr. Communications Strategist with Optum Behavioral Health Solutions. The remote-work opportunity and solid income opened the door for us to move south and away from the Northeast weather, taxes and stressful pace.
My husband Mac, who I married in 2017, and I had our sights on Mount Pleasant, the town we both knew was ‘the one’ when we visited areas all over the south to find our destination. Our daughter graduated high school on a Monday and we were all on our way to our new home state that Friday morning with our two dogs in tow. The other important passenger was my beloved dad, or the container holding a scoop of his ashes. Dad had always wanted to move to SC full-time but Mom’s devotion to her church, or more likely her OCD and resulting inflexibility, took that option off the table for him. So I perched the container with dad’s ashes on the dash as we migrated south and openly told him his wish was being granted, too. I took a picture it next to the “Welcome to South Carolina” sign, validation that sometimes others can carry our own wishes in their hearts for us.
Two years after that car ride, we have settled in Mount Pleasant in Rivertown on the Wando, a beautiful community where we wake to palm trees, egrets, and the songs of marsh life on which our elevated house sits. I have become an avid pickleball player, board game player, and surfer thanks to the incredible women of Waves for Women, the organization who helped me make peace with my fear of drowning, and even greater fear of midlife being the end of the road rather than the beginning of something exciting. It was through this program I met my incredible life coach, Kathie Watson, who encouraged me to re-invest in my personal publishing dreams and pick up where I left off. Last month Chicken Soup for the Soul published my essay, Message from Dad, in their latest book Miracles, Angels and Messages from Heaven. In December, The Bad Day Book will release my essay, The Name Change, about my daughter’s initial resistance to her now stepfather and the creative way she tried to drive him out of my life. I have agent interest in my in-process memoir and am excited about my publishing future.
For some time, I thought the decision I’d made to make my beloved children my priority and the professional sacrifices I’d made to do so meant it was a final period on my life’s story. I realize that the pause, let’s call it a semicolon, was merely the deep breath we all should take to reflect on what it is we really want from what Mary Oliver calls this “one wild and precious life”. She is right; this is not a dress rehearsal and I would rather look back and embrace my failures rather than lingering doubts so I will keep writing, submitting and hoping that my best chapter has yet to be written.
I’m sure it wasn’t obstacle-free, but would you say the journey has been fairly smooth so far?
Emphatically NO.
I’ve struggled with identity my whole life. Before I was adopted I had five imposed identities: I was the product of an affair between a married man and the family’s teenaged babysitter and the day of my arrival, her mother left her at the curb in front of the ER and told her to call when she was ready to be picked up – without the baby this teenager secretly named Dawn. The man’s wife, too, refused to take in his “bastard” baby. The bastard was also me. This was the 1960s and there were no government programs – let alone TV reality shows – supporting unwed teen single moms, so after being whisked away before she ever laid eyes on me, I became a ward of the state. 90 days later, I was placed in the arms of the foster couple who eventually became my adoptive parents; in their version of the story, I was their miracle. Three months old and four identities. Should have known it was not going to be an easy ride, but these make for the best stories. Eventually, I became Nan, but it took a long time for me to know who that even was.
My adoptive mother, who loved me the best she could given her own obstacles, was very tough on me and her inconsistency with love, affection, and support was like navigating a minefield. Dad and I were very close but somewhat secretly since Mom resented it. This did not make for an emotionally healthy foundation. I became skilled at presenting a confident and capable façade when inside I was constantly unraveling. So, I did what many emotionally unhealthy young women do and married the familiar by choosing in my first spouse someone with my mother’s temperament. I have no regrets, though, because with no one else would I have my son and daughter and they are the loves of my life. Second time around, I also married what I knew, only Mac has my father’s temperament: calm, capable, consistent plus the deepest sense of honor I’ve ever known; probably from his lifetime in Special Operations with the USAF. He is my biggest fan; he not only believes I can fly, he runs beside me shouting encouragement as I try, fall, get up and try again. We all need this in life, someone with unconditional belief in us when we lose sight of it for ourselves.
Following my divorce, the bottom fell out of my life. I went bankrupt, my car was repossessed in front of a watchful crowd of neighbors, and I was fired for standing up to a superior after she degraded a valuable teammate in front of a client. So, I was a single Mom losing her children’s childhood home, driving to and from job interviews in borrowed cars, and cleaning houses when I could for cash to keep food on the table. I learned how to bleed the furnace when it ran out of heating oil and how to repair burst copper pipes which happened regularly during the cold months and we were without heat or hot water living on the generosity of others and sleeping in front of the fireplace. One of my favorite essays is a Brain, Child piece about my stealing a Christmas tree. Yes, things were that bad at one time. But I had two kids depending on me and I had to model resilience for them since life kicks the crap out of everyone at some point; they had to learn by watching not to let life ever defeat them, either. Now when we trim our tree, we joke that at least we didn’t have to sneak it off the tree lot, and I am filled with gratitude for the opportunity to rebuild and the perseverance to make it happen.
Appreciate you sharing that. What else should we know about what you do?
I love creative nonfiction essays. Lee Gutkind is a genius! I believe the deepest connections can be made by sharing our frailties, in particular. I am known professionally for my strategic approach to things; I am the one who can solve the problem. Personally, I am most proud of my family – my husband, children, fur babies – as well as my chosen family which took five decades to build, but it was well worth the wait. The people I have in my life now are the ones God planted for this next phase in which remarkable things will happen. I have immense gratitude for them.
What sets my apart is my deeply empathetic nature and my refusal to judge others no how difficult this can be at times; I am a hot mess half the time juggling everything I have to carry in life and I don’t pretend to have it all together because I don’t. This is one of the greatest dangers of social media – presenting facades against which we are supposed to measure ourselves that aren’t real. This is particularly dangerous for young women who have enough pressure on them to be perfect, especially physically. Authenticity may not be pretty but it’s way more meaningful.
Before we let you go, we’ve got to ask if you have any advice for those who are just starting out?
The bad may outweigh the good at times. This is not a reflection on you, your talent, or potential – it’s just life.
Start with why. Simon Sinek is someone whose approach I admire and his book of the same title is front and center on my desk.
Lean in to discomfort rather than avoid it – this is when the greatest growth occurs.
Practice gratitude daily. It helps tame negative thinking to write down three things – even small ones – you’re thankful for every day.
A win is just a loss by someone with the courage to try one more time. Failure isn’t as devastating as wondering “what if I had…” Life is not a dress rehearsal.
Ignore the haters. They will come, especially with increasing success. Listen to Taylor and “shake it off.” Better to be resented than invisible.
Kindness matters. Maya Angelou is right; people will never forget how you made them feel.
Contact Info:
- Website: http://www.nanmckernon.net/
- Instagram: Insta @nanmckernon
- Facebook: FB: Nan McKernon
- Other: nanmckernon@yahoo.com
