Two days ago there was a 8x5.5, unevenly folded, two-stapled magazine in my mail box, it's light lavender cover showing a pregnant mother earth holding up the sun and moon. I don't usually subscribe to such "hippie" mailings but I was particularly excited to have this publication show up at my door. Before I had even broken the tape seal I was jumping up and down in anticipation of what was inside.
And there it was... on the very first page!
My essay, my name: my first published work.
I don't care one bit that I was not paid or that it isn't in a full-sized glossy printed somewhere bigger and more important sounding. I actually love the fact that my first published essay is in a zine, lovingly put together in a small town just over the mountain by people who know people I know (I even know one of the other authors through my former job). I don't care that the number of readers will be tiny compared to those of the big "shinys." My only care is that I am on my way - to where exactly, I don't know, but I am on the path I have envisioned for myself for over a decade. And I sincerely thank the editor of Mama Says for giving me a leg up.
In March 1997, I wrote in my journal:
When I peer into an undated future (maybe 10 years)... I see myself in my own home, married... I never think of myself working [outside the home], no I'm writing... in a sunny room with birds singing outside the window...
Well, here I am twelve years later writing at a big desk in a sunny room (well, it would be sunny if this wasn't Vermont in mid January, and granted, I am only home from work today because my children are full of the ague). And next to me pinned to my cork board is the little magazine opened to a page with the title, "God and Condoms" with my name printed right below it.
I truly believe in manifesting your dreams, especially in writing. So many things have fallen into place for me because I had visualized and wrote about them first.
I have put in writing many times before my hope of becoming a freelance writer (and I am kind of partial to those paying types of jobs, please) but I am visualizing it here and now for you all to share (bear with me, s'il vous plait). I also have a new dream brewing.
OK, it's 2014. It is actually sunny in my sunny writing room. My children are at school (because in this dream they are never sick and preventing me from working) and I have a deadline for an essay I'm submitting to Brain, Child (my 5th one for them). This evening I will be walking over to the studio I have created in our converted garage to teach a journal workshop.
There's my mini dream. My nose is pointed down a path. I don't know the twists and turns the path will take but I know I will get somewhere good in the end.