I arrived home yesterday after five weeks of sleeping in beds other than my own. I don’t remember exactly how many times I packed, unpacked, and repacked suitcases this summer, but the number is in the double digits. It’s unnatural to spend so much time away from one’s own pillow and home comforts. My husband and kids flew back to Zurich a week ago, so I could attend a writer’s conference in the US. Maybe you’ve heard me mention it alongside such words as fear/anxiety/all hell breaking loose? Yes, that’s the one.
I packed my bags, along with a piece of my heart typed across fifty sheets of paper, and I attended the SheSpeaks Conference. I met with editors and sat through sessions and narrowly avoided an emotional breakdown after discovering my car keys in the trash bin an hour before my departure. My book proposal found its way into the hands of a few people, and there’s no way of knowing where it will go from here.
I returned home, in spite of my small successes, with a bit of a heavy heart because while I faced one fear, I know new ones lie around the corner waiting to be conquered. While I wrote lots of words, I worry they’ll play hide and seek when I go looking for more. And while I like an adventure as much as the next girl, I’m unsure of where the path leads from here. I suppose this is what it means to dream big and to hope bigger. It means turning the corner, seeking words in the dark, and walking new paths when my feet instinctively turn to the old one.
Are you dreaming big these days? Is your hope even bigger?