When I was ten or eleven years old, someone asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. I said I didn’t know, but the truth is I did. I wanted to be an author and a publisher. Well, editor was the biggest I let myself dream back then, but it grew into publisher and author by the time I was about twenty-five. I kept it to myself and made the choices that put food on my table and kept creditors off my back. They kept me in the writing profession, but didn’t fulfill my dream.
Part of the problem was, I didn’t believe I could do it. Little by little, I circled that dream, and little by little I gave it up. I even gave up on writing altogether just a few years ago. I had so many failures on the way I plumb ran out of drive. The dream exhausted me.
It wasn’t the first dream that didn’t come true. I’d burned with desire to travel the world when I was younger. That didn’t happen. It turned out that travel belonged to my sister, and when I saw that, the desire vanished completely, leaving me peaceful and content. Watching my dream of publishing die was hard, yet it was a huge relief. Unlike the travel dream, it didn’t leave me content, but it did give me peace.
Now, I’m watching my dream of being a publisher and author manifesting in a way I never would have imagined. It’s as if I’d sent my baby out into the world and she’s come home with a whole trunk of opportunity and growth. When I watched her go, it felt like death.
Today, I stand just inside a whole new world. I am co-author of The Practical Herbalist’s Herbal Folio series, editor and publisher of The Pocket Herbal: Medicinal Plants that changed the World by Sue Sierralupe, and am a published author of a series of fiction and non-fiction articles relating to herbs and herbalism.
The dream didn’t die. It took on a life of it’s own. Maybe that’s exactly how it was supposed to be all along.