Soon after migrating to the U.S. as a young child, I became a lover of words and the English language as soon as I was able to read. To this day, nothing has the power to move me as words do. Reading became my escape, and fiction my first love. It has kept me company and moved me through my darkest days.
I never majored in any of the creative language arts. Like millions of creative people all around the world, I grew up with a constant reminder that getting a “good education” and finding a “serious job” was the only path that led to happiness. But I never stopped reading and I never stopped dreaming. I developed a deep admiration for the authors I read but never considered myself talented enough to write something that anyone would want to read.
After a short, failed marriage at the age of nineteen that resulted in physical abuse, I met the husband which I was fortunate enough to love for thirty-two years to follow. It was, by all accounts, a successful marriage till death, by way of cancer, did us part.
We worked together, owned, and operated two successful businesses, owned several properties, travelled the world and went through hardships. I gained a stepdaughter and two wonderful grandchildren. Except for the grieving when my husband was gone, I have no complaints there.
I became a widow. I realized that, when it comes to grief, some people don’t know what to say so they either avoid you or just don’t say anything at all. During this time I felt compelled to write but I couldn’t come up with words that would make sense to anyone. I am one of the fortunate ones who found another widow friend to confide in and learn to face life on my own.
Life breaks us and puts us back together. Two years after my husband’s passing, I had the innegable experience of being face to face with a stranger whom I recognized from a previous life and, to this day, believe he is my soulmate. Although we have never seen each other again, we have kept in touch as friends and I am confident that we will meet again. At the time, I wanted to write this story but I decided to wait until I had an ending.
A year later I embarked on a 14 day journey on foot across the north of Spain called Camino de Santiago. I walked alone through woods and across fields and had time to think and face all my demons at once. I was given the gift of time and space for my thoughts to wander at will. It was during this journey that I realized I had a story in me if I just asked “What if?” …and let my imagination run wild. After all, ideas are rather mystical things that hang around in the air waiting for someone to use them.
During this era of spirituality, I’ve been on a journey of self love and discovery. A time in my life devoted to the rediscovery of my inner child. The child who lived in a book and found all the answers there. A child who reads and writes about Mindfulness, Manifestation, Quantum physics, and fiction (of course).
As a big birthday approached, now in the last quarter of my life built by the consequences of many choices, I get to thinking about all that has transpired in the last 60 years and the impermanence of human existence. I dove into the notes I had scribbled on the pages of infinite notebooks, wrote my first story and posted it on Medium.
Three months and 30+ stories later, with the constant support of the Medium community, its publications, my friends on social media and beyond, I have more than 200 followers and a book ready for publication.
I suppose there is some level of emotional resilience involved. Nonetheless, I keep moving forward unencumbered by all the pain in the past. I gave myself permission to create no matter how afraid I am of failure. Admittedly, it’s taken me a while but the point is I’m finally doing it. And I don’t think I’m going to stop. Ever. Not even rejection can stand in my way!
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