I am five. I am in the woods in front of my house on the south side of Grand Island, NY. It’s winter and the forest is hushed with a muffle of snow. The trees are black and bare, like spiders against the pewter sky.
I am captivated by the silence and intimacy. It’s like a church, but spooky. I am intoxicated with freedom and independence. This is what is good about a large family. I can sometimes get lost and not be missed.
Crunch, crunch, go the sticks and dried leaves under foot. I hit a smooth hard surface, brush away the snow with my brown vinyl boot and discover a pane of ice. Underneath it are rotten leaves and black water, a glass paperweight.
I can skate! I run, and zoom on the smooth surface – my own private ice rink. In the middle of the pond I hear a cracking, the ice groaning and buckling under my feet. I try to run, but the ice traps my feet. The brackish sulphur-smelling water pours into my boots. It is only a foot deep, so I am safe, but shaken. I slosh out of the pond and make my way home to stuff newspaper in my boots, fairly sure I will not receive a scolding; one of many adventures.
I am fifty and have left the comfort of a good job. The possibilities loom large. The silence of my home office is rarely broken. My time is my own. I am both exhilarated and terrified.
I make phone calls to prospective clients and meet with rejection. Press kits go out unnoticed. Calls to bars and restaurant owners result in tepid recollection.
I trudge on, practicing, creating, calling, writing and planning. I am shaken, but believe I am meant to be here and will find my path.
Never let the odds keep you from pursuing what you know in your heart you were meant to do.
~ Satchel Paige