Earlier this year, I started a new fiction piece.
I thought this would be the year I finished another book—the year I disappeared into drafts and deadlines, the year I forced momentum into existence. Instead, life did what it does best: it intervened.
This year brought a career shift, a return to automotive marketing—the industry where my career first began—and more time on the road visiting clients in person. It brought frequent travel, deeper conversations, and a renewed appreciation for the work I do. It also brought an unexpected joy: I got engaged this summer, and now I’m planning a wedding for May 2026. Somewhere along the way, I started showing up more publicly—sharing thoughts on digital marketing and account management on LinkedIn, finding my voice in a different way.
And the book? It waited.
I have two fiction books published through Amazon Publishing. I know what it takes to finish one. But this year reminded me that creativity doesn’t live well under pressure—and neither do people.
That realization isn’t new to me. It was taught to me long before I could remember it.
When I was only a few weeks old, I became critically ill and spent nearly 30 days hospitalized. My parents, both deeply goal-oriented, had built a life around intention. In their office hung a whiteboard filled with both personal and professional goals.
Then, one day, everything written on that board stopped mattering.
Doctors told my parents my chances of survival were low. They were advised to prepare for the worst. In that moment, my father realized something that would shape the rest of their lives: nothing is definite. No plan is guaranteed. Life can shift without warning.
After that, the whiteboard lost its power. My parents learned to live in the moment, to loosen their grip on timelines, and to meet life as it arrived.
Life has a way of reinforcing lessons when we forget them.
Like many people, I once held a very specific vision of how my life would unfold. Married to my high school sweetheart. A beautiful home. A dog. Plans to start a family by 26.
Instead, at 26, I found myself divorced due to infidelity, grieving a future I thought was already written. I was fortunate to keep my home, but that stability came at a cost. For nearly two years after my divorce was finalized, I lived so close to the margin that a $40 manicure felt like a luxury I had to justify.
Those years taught me something I still practice daily: grace.
Because while time is the most valuable thing we have, I refuse to weaponize it against myself. I refuse to measure my worth by how quickly I arrive at milestones or how closely my life resembles a version I imagined years ago.
So yes, I will write and self-publish a third book. But I will do it on my own time.
As Thoreau once said, “How vain it is to sit down to write when you have not stood up to live.”
This is your reminder to give yourself grace. To count your blessings, even the quiet ones. To take each day as it comes, especially when your life no longer resembles the plan you once clung to.
This is your life. Your story. Your narrative.
Make whatever you want of it, even if there are people who don’t understand your path or resist your evolution. Take a deep breath. Take it day by day.
Because I promise you, there is someone who looks at what you have and sees everything they’ve ever dreamed of.
This is so very true . Live for today ! With gratitude