I write books about remembering who you are and allowing yourself to live from that place. Here’s why:
When I was 15 years old, I spent three weeks with my friend Caroline on her family’s farm in Virginia.
I met Caroline halfway through fifth grade. She was the new kid, and the only available desk in the room was next to me. Before I even met her I thought, “Maybe we can be friends.”
That was a big, scary thought because, when I was in fifth grade, I didn’t have any friends. In fact, I was the designated victim, the target for all the bullies in my class. But Caroline didn’t know that yet, so I had hope.
Happily, we did become friends. As it turned out, we had a lot in common, especially our love of horses. But a few years later, Caroline’s parents bought a small farm more than three hours away.
Against all odds, we remained friends, recording messages to each other on cassette tapes and sending them through the mail.
(It was the 1980s. We were ahead of our time.)
Fast forward to the summer after 10th grade. Somehow, I convinced my parents to let me take a Greyhound bus—by myself—to Staunton, Virginia. There is zero chance I would have allowed my son to do this, but being Gen X had its perks.
Caroline’s parents had a few acres. Enough for a horse, chickens, a small orchard, a gigantic vegetable garden, and some bees. I loved it so much. At some point during my stay, I remember standing by the house, looking out over their fiefdom, and deciding that I would have a place just like it one day.
I decided. For reals.
After that trip, Caroline and I lost track of each other. I went on to college, got married, and started a marketing business. Eventually, I had a little boy, Samson. I was living an ordinary life in the suburbs, having all but forgotten about those carefree days at my friend’s farm.
Years passed.
A boy grew up. A marriage ended. And a new life began.
Suddenly, I wasn’t stuck in the suburbs. I got to choose again. And the universe said, remember.
A few years later, my husband and I bought Undertree Farm. We have horses, chickens and bees. We have a vineyard and the beginnings of an orchard. The vegetable garden is on the drawing board.
It happened. It all happened.
And Caroline? I found her too. We grabbed fajitas last week.
All of this is to say, the life you’ve always wanted is inside of you.
Remembering that, and learning how to live it, is the heart of my work.
If that appeals to you, welcome.