When I was a kid, I wanted to be a writer. I wrote poems and short stories and believed at the young age of nine that I would grow up to be a famous writer. I believed this so wholeheartedly that I used to call publishing houses and ask them how many chapters they needed from me to decide if they would publish my book. Weeks later, my mail box would be filled with letters from publishing companies thanking me for reaching out. Around the same time, my mom would be getting the phone bill and be horrified by all the long distance calls I made to Los Angeles, San Francisco and New York. Back in the 80’s there was no free calling. Paying for long distance was a thing, and boy, did that thing get me in trouble!
I guess you could say I was a tenacious kid, believing so strongly that one day I would make a name for myself as a writer. However, as I got older, that tenacity faded and I began to surrender to my place in this world. I was a very poor kid who lived in a migrant camp and my set of circumstances didn’t allow for greatness.
School was my only opportunity to shine. I loved school for many reasons.
The two most notable were that I was lucky enough to have great teachers—specifically great English teachers who fed my desire to write, and uplifted me every time I shared my short stories. The second was school helped me escape from the sadness and chaos of my home life. School, English class… was my safe space. The stories, the places and worlds I created, were so that kids like me could escape and feel the comfort and safety net that words & stories provided.
I never became that famous writer. Instead, I became a mom at 17, married at 19, and the chaos of my life never allowed enough time for me to sit with my words and create. Sadly that part of me was fading away… and I knew it.
But, somewhere in me, a tiny ember hid in my heart. As the years passed and my life was unfolding before me, I would always stop and say to myself, “How will I write this chapter of my life?” I hadn’t put pen to paper to write in ages, and yet, it was still my first thought.
Yes, over the last 30 years I have written in my journals and kept track of how I felt through all the trials and tribulations of my life. However, in all those years, I hadn’t written with intention. Until today.
Back in 2007 I heard the song DREAM by Pricilla Ahn. I fell in love with it and I played it over and over again. I think it reminded me of that tenacious little girl who believed. 16 years later, I still play that song and tell myself that when my book is published and turned into a movie…this song will be how the movies begins. A little girl running and playing in the vineyard that I grew up in. A little girl whose super power is believing.
Today, that tenacious little girl reminds this 46 year old women that it is never too late to believe.
