White Bean and Chicken Chili

I believed her. She stared into the camera and with this innocent sincerity said "You're going to love this." I trusted her. Her words were delicious and her sense of certainty was inviting. Whater she was offering, I wanted in. I was taking this opportunity and running. I knew deep down inside this was going to be good for me.

This is the meal she promised me. She ensured me that when I followed every single instruction she laid in my path, not only would it look like this, but it would also taste very good. You see, when she took her spoon and dipped it in the chili, out came a big old chunk of happiness. She looked into the camera with a big smile, taunted me and said, "I wish you could smell this." Then, once she felt she had her way with me, she tasted it. Her eyes closed and she transcended into chicken and white bean chili bliss.

I was left on the other side of the screen in awe. I wanted to be submerged into savory goodness. My mouth was salivating (Ok, so I kinda sorta drooled) and I wanted what she had. I needed to transcend into chili bliss and close my eyes and say how DELICIOUS this was. I too wanted to share in that pride that comes with accomplishing a goal and immersing yourself in the sweet sweet glory that comes with knowing you worked your butt off. You know, that kind of self worth that only comes when you do something yourself and no one helped you and it all turned out just fine because you did it. I like to call it, THE ACHIEVEMENT OF INDEPENDENCE.

So, I hear her say that I could go to the website get the recipe and have a content tummy too. I did it. I went to the website, found the recipe and hit print. I was buying a one way ticket to culinary glory and there was no stopping me. YUM YUM CHILI HERE I COME!!! I read the instructions and start going through the ingredients. Of course since I consider myself a master chef, I have pretty much everything in my kitchen that needs to go into this thing. Except for the main ingredient, GROUND CHICKEN. Who has ground chicken lying around? Who came up with that anyway? Times like this I wish I had the meat grinder attachment for my KitchenAid mixer. 

I write down a couple of items that I didn't have in my cabinets of awesome. Ground chicken, swiss chard(never cooked with it before) , cumin (ran out), cannellini beans (never heard of these things), frozen corn and ummmm oh yeah, chicken stock and some parm cheese. Got my list programed in my iPhone and I'm off to the grocery store.

Walking through the grocery store, temptation lies in every corner. I don't know if I mentioned it, but I am on a diet. I have made a commitment to myself to get into the shape that I have always dreamed of. Think Jillian Michaels. In other words, I am disciplining myself. Hence, there are items that I must refrain from eating. If its not taking me to the sexy mountain peak, then i'm not getting on that lift!

DOESN'T THAT 240 CALORIE COKE LOOK DELISH -------->

However, I can't help the delishishness that lies behind the magical glass doors of yum town. It seems that everything has my name on it. From the fresh baked bread in the bakery to the happy cupcakes winking in my directon. (Cupcakes goes great with chili right?) I fight the urge and move forward with my shopping list. Only because I've been really good on my diet (lost fifteen pounds in one month) and the fat lady eating the package of Entenmann's chocolate donuts reminds me that temptation only leads to demise.

Ok, back to the story. I get home and I start following all of the directions. I start off with prepping all of my ingredients. I want everything to be perfect so that I can pretend to have my own cooking show and be just as awesome, but not as crazy looking as Giada. I don't have cool little prep bowls but my Hello Kitty bowls and measuring cups do the trick. After a bowlful of tears (thanks to a whole chopped onion), I finally have everything prepped. I start going down the list of the steps and begin following them them one by one. I've become a tad bit familiar with the recipe since I read it over and over and over again, prior to starting. The cockiness settles in and I'm good to go.

I get everything in the pot and I'm happy with my results thus far. This ting is going to be amazing.

Not to shabby huh? Well, the directions tell me to simmer and I do just that. In order to kill time and wait for my bowl of goodness I grab my book, grab my Jeter and a bottle of water and wait it out. In an hour I will have perfect edible happy chili.

YEAH!! So like my arrogance over shadowed my ability to read directions. You see after I waited a whole freaking hour to have this amazing chili, I walk over to the stove and realize that I've been literally SIMMERING this thing for an hour. So the pot of chili didn't cook down the way it was supposed to due to the lack of heat. I turn up the heat a tad and decide to take a shower in order to wash away my pang of failure and redeem some sense of confidence. It also helped to distract my tummy from the aching desire to grab a spoon and eat it anyway.

Eventually, after beating my mind into a culinary pulp, I walk over and my delish creation is ready for tasting. It's reduced the way it's supposed to. The smell of cumin and fennel seeds and chicken and freaking delishishness is running through my house. I am a happy camper. I give it the finishing touches and BBAAAMM (SN:What the heck happened to Emeril Lagasse?) 

And here's the finished product:

Trust me when I tell you that it taste SO MUCH BETTER THAN WHAT IT LOOKS!!! It has a chili flavor but it's a tad bit sweet. The heat smacks your taste buds after the third spoonful. I know I am an amazing cook. But, I cannot bask in sweet glory until I have confirmation. After all, the falling tree only makes a sound if someone is around to hear it. (or does it?)

The tried and true test is once my friends try it and tell me how it came out.  For the time being, I am relying on my own taste buds and these bad boys don't lie! (ooo it's soooo delish)

I had a vision. I saw something that I believed was good for me. It's something that I wanted. I set a goal for myself and moved foward. She mastered it and I wanted too also.

I refused to sit on my rear end and hope that this wonderful bowl of chili would appear out of thin air. NO. I followed the steps that were laid out before me and discovered greatness. The minor speed bumps did not phase me. I reached my goal despite my set backs.

 

In sumbery (sorry I have some chili in my mouth) Don't sit back and complain about what you don't have. Go out there and work for it and get it for yourself. **CLICHE ALERT** It taste so much better when you enjoy the fruits OR CHILI of your labor. =) 

Thanks for reading... I'm going to get back to this bowl of chili. MMMM MMMM TASTE GOOD!

What's it all about again?

This is going to be the year that I (fill in the blank). Yup, I have sat back and watched life happen before me, but NO MORE!! This is my year. This is going to be the year that I will finally meet my goal. There is nothing that's going to stop me. I am motivated. There is nothing... I mean absolutely nothing... that will stand in my way. I will achieve greatness in 2012!

Ok, so it's been twenty-five days into the New Year. Where do you stand? Did you find that new relationship, quit smoking, lose weight, save money? Did you become that nicer person, make more time for your family, live each day as if it were your last? Wait... let me guess, you FINALLY found that dream job and are slowly climbing that ladder to success JUST LIKE YOU ALWAYS SAID!!! Soon enough, that bank account will increase, you will be happy and you will have nothing at all to worry about. Congrats! I'm happy for you.

No really, I am happy for you. Don't focus on my frown, focus on the fact that you are headed in the right direction. I'm proud of you. Now, for the rest of you that are trying to hide your disappointment, (Not that I am, because my lips normally go down when I smile, its cool. I'm not jealous at all. For real) come take a seat next to me and lets comfort each other in the land of unkept promises and defeat.

Let's talk this thing out. What is it about the new year that creates all this excitement and potential for something new and something hopeful. Why is it that we have to wait for numbers on a calendar to change before we decided, I've had enough and things are going to change? Why? Why? Why? Here are my thoughts...stay with me on this one, I'll get to the point eventually.

So Jeter wakes up every morning and goes crazy. He jumps up on the side of the bed with this huge doggie smile and this excitement as if to say, DID YOU SEE...IT'S A NEW DAY. GET UP! GET UP! GET UP! My reaction always is..."ugh, five more minutes." Telling him that is like hitting the snooze button on an alarm. He'll be back at it, with the same innocent excitement. MOOOMMMIIEEEEE, WAKE UP! WE MADE IT! ANOTHER DAY! LET'S DO THIS!!!

Eventually, I'll get tired of his excitement, because who told you that we should be excited today. It's freaking seven in the morning. SEVEN IN THE MORNING JETER!! I'll reach over, pull him up on the bed and after he is done trying to wake me up with doggie slobber and gentle nibbling, he finally gives in and collapses in front of me. Bam...battle won and now he won't move, nor harass me until I decide it's time to wake up. I have to decide to wake up.

Ok, so now back to my point. (I told you, I'll bring you back!) Jeter doesn't care what day it is or what time it is. Once he wakes up...it's go time. He has opened the gift of life one more day and he doesn't plan on wasting it. He wakes up with the I-will-conquer-the-world-attitude and there is nothing that is going to come between him and his day of awesomeness. That is until he comes across me. The cuddler of crushed dreams. I tell him, no your not ready. But, he knows that he is. He walks away for a moment or so, but is back in my face with this c'mon lady I want this and I want it now attitude.

However, I know him. I know how to knock him down. I know how to crush his happiness and get him into that lazy state where I am comfortable and I am happy knowing he is not doing anything and I can rest knowing I am not going to miss anything and he isn't going to do anything. I grab him and I give him what he longs for. Comfort. The comfort in knowing that nothing has changed and everything has stayed exactly the same. He can conquer the world when I am ready for him to conquer the world.

Don't look at me like that. I told you there was a point to this story and I'm getting there. You see, every day is a blessing. It's one more day that you are able to make an impact in this world. You can either enter into it with a blind innocence that no matter what, you are going to be happy. You are going to meet your goals. You are going to do what you set out to do. OR you can take the opposite approach and go back to what is comfortable. You can choose to fall into the arms of days past and continue to live your life in the same routine and never experience something new.

So here's what I'm saying. Learn to let go. Don't carry that weight from 2011. Don't get disappointed if you've already gave up on your new years resolutions. It's not about a new year, it's all about a new day. Each day is an opportunity to take a step forward in life and live out one more dream, say one more thank you, one more I love you. It's all about baby steps people. **CLICHE WARNING** Rome wasn't built in a day (did I do that right?) and neither can a new you.

I leave you with this thought, before you go to bed tonight think of one thing that you don't want to do tomorrow. Fill that void with something you do want to do. Make it a point that NO MATTER what the cuddler of crushed dreams bribes you with, do it. If you give in, aim to do it the next day and the next day. You'll get it right. I promise.

2012, welcome...but it's not about you. It's all about tomorrow.

People change...or so I was told

~Once I'm gone, I won't live down my deceit.

There's a weight on my shoulder. Something I carry with me every day. It's not something that I constantly think about, but that which I worry about on a daily basis. It something that arrives before I step foot into a room and something that lingers when I walk away. It speaks volumes about who I am and what I stand for. It's what people judge and what people talk about. It will describe me before you even see my face. It's my name.

I'm not sure what recent events in my life have caused me to feel different about it all. Life I mean. It just seems that from one day to the next my life has taken on a new purpose. Before, or I mean after the event, my goal was just to make it to the next day with my sanity. After a while, just like everyone said, it became normal again. But, my normal wasn't normal anymore. It wasn't really me. My "normal" was spirialling out of control. I had no way of controlling it. I began to feel numb.

The zombie status consumed my life. I could no longer taste the wind. My eyes were void of any life. My ears were immune to the scents of the world. I was walking without purpose, searching for something that I didn't know where to find. I recognized my faithless walk and decided things should change. I just didn't know where to start. Something had to be done and it needed to be taken care of before it destroyed what was left of my heart. Just as sure as you are reading my words, I'm not sure that I completely gotten rid of it.

There are times where I wonder if I am able to feel anything at all. The emotions of hearing my neice laugh at one of my jokes, feeling the kind hug of a friend or being caressed by a hopeless romantic no longer bring thrill to me. How can I write a decent plot line if I don't know how things feel. I find myself digging for some kind of emotion. Crying is a task that doesn't come as easy as it once did, laughing is never forced, but it hurts to bring it up. Like, is this what it has come down to?

The things that used to move me and captivate me, just don't do it for me anymore. A heart that used to be filled with such innocence and love for the world and the people in it, has now become a metallic unidentifiable object that sets off metal detectors in airports. It is something to be feared, but yet envied. Sad but true. Having a cold heart is the new fashion accesory craved all over the world.

I can't change the things I've done in the past. Given the opportunity, I don't think I would change it. Life has taught me so much about the strength that resides within me. Had I not been tested, I would have never known. I now know what I stand for, who I stand with and when to sit my butt down and nod my head. It took a while to get to this point. However, I can't seem to shake the coldness that stirs my heart.

There is a fear that comforts my cold. I am afraid to make myself vulnerable again. There are people in my life that I never thought would turn their backs on me or do anything to hurt me. They too, like the losers I got rid of, have taken the option to shove a six inch blade into the small of my back. What I can't shake is blaming the new people for what the old people have done. How do you even begin to trust again after you have been shattered so many times. Picking up the broken pieces and putting them together repeatedly leaves behind jagged edges and a distorted image. No matter how hard you try to regain what you once were, it's nearly impossible.

Now I am faced with a dilema. It's not anything serious. But, it feels right. The urge and temptation to turn and run is always there. I am trying to fight it. The universe knows this and is pushing me back, but I am resilient, I am battling that force with my last breathe. The whole time I wonder, why bother? It's just going to end up in damaging heartache and what if I can't fix it again? What if this will be the one that will finally break me? Do I really want that?

The truth is I don't. I want to know what it's like to respond to a gentle kiss again and feel that stiring emotion that shakes your heart and sinks into the pit of your stomach. I want to look into someone's eyes and feel their love for me. I want to feel comfortable to break down in tears and be ok with a comforting hug. I no longer want to live in fear of being betrayed and being hurt. I want to live again.

For those that sit around praying for a cold non emotional heart, thing again. Take it from a cold hearted emotionally closed down individual. It's a lonely world out here. It's scary when nothing moves you and nothing motivates you. Just like before when I was trying to survive the incident and I carefully placed one foot in front of the other, I will achieve my goal. The only difference is that this time around I have to undo what I did.

So why bother you ask? Because, I want to be. I will hold on, but this time I won't bleed. My zombie will be killed off and will finally decompose and rest where it fell. I will live again and I will live down the deceit that gave me strength to go one. I will be human again.

Underappreciated is an understatement

Your mind is racing again. It's smack in the middle of the night and you remember that you needed to get that packaged Fed Ex yesterday. You start to wonder how the hell you're going to meet your deadline. There's nothing you can do about it now. It's 3am. You have four hours until you have to get up to prepare the kids for school, but sleep has eluded you. When you were a child your mom would give you a cup of warm milk and that seemed to do the trick. Hopefully, it still works.

You crawl out of bed and make the long walk past the kid’s bedroom, avoid stepping on the dog and walk down the steps. The kitchen seems so far. You remember the day you bought the house. The selling point was the distance from the bedroom to the kitchen. It was just far enough where your spouses early morning coffee routine wouldn't bother you. The neighborhood was also important. You came a long way from the place you used to live in. You worked very hard to give your children the peace and tranquility that you did not grow up with. You have done well in your life.

The long walk to the kitchen brings you past the hallway where your mail sits un-opened. Bills. The first one is that dreaded property tax bill. It seems that while everything has been crashing to a halt, those taxes keep going up and up. Everyone is always asking for money. You struggled to get where you are and it's not fair that people who did not study as hard as you or made the sacrifices you did to put themselves through school should make equal to or more money than you. Civil employees are a joke. Everyone knows that they are just rejects who couldn't make it and had no other choice. Definitely not your fault. You worked hard to be where you are. They are just a bunch of lazy people who got a hand out. They don’t know the meaning of sacrifice.

You get to the fridge and pour yourself a glass of milk. It's 3am and you don't feel like dirtying dishes, so you opt for the microwave instead. You rub your shoulders dreading the day that lies ahead when you hear a noise just outside your French doors. Relief calms your mind. You invested in that alarm protection that they advertise on TV. You know the one where the burglar manages to break in the door and then the alarm sounds and the burglar runs off. A second later someone calls and ask if they are alright. Peace of mind is worth the money. If the burglar were to  manage to make it through that expensive lock you placed on the door after extensive research, the alarm will scare the burglar off. Back to the milk.

You hear the dog racing down the steps and walk over to the pantry to get a treat. But, when your pooch finally gets to where you are, you notice he is staring outside those French doors your mom helped you pick out so you would have a panoramic view of the pool and yard. Then you see it. There’s a shadow lurking in your backyard. It looks like a man. The dog starts to growl. Your heart sinks and your first instinct is to get to the kids and call 911. Forget the alarm.

You run upstairs, calling the dog behind you. You start to think that maybe that Second Amendment wasn’t such a joke. You should have bought a gun after all. You'll be damned if anyone tried to hurt your kids. You enter the first kid bedroom when you hear the French door handle jiggle. Why hasn't the alarm gone off?? The dog's growl is now getting louder. No one is calling.

You manage to get the second child out of their bedroom and hear a voice on the other end of the phone by the time you hear the glass break. No alarm. This is not the way it was supposed to go. The voice on the other end asks you the address of the emergency. You have lived here for over ten years and for the life of you, you can't remember where you live. You inform the operator that someone is breaking into your house. You need the police now. The voice on the other end calmly asks you again, what's your address? You've watched enough movies and enough television to know that they already know where you are. With a pompous and frightened voice you advise the operator she already knows where you are at, just send the police.

The over paid civil employee informs you that they don't know where you are, you are calling from a cell phone and that they need your address. You thought you grabbed the house phone. You give her an address. It sounds about right. Then your heart stops. You can hear the footsteps coming up the stairs. You are scared for your life, for the life of your children. Why you?

The lifeline informs you to lock your bedroom door. She asks you for directions to your bedroom. You tell her it's the fourth door to the left side of the staircase. She asks if you have a closet or a bathroom in your bedroom with a lock. You think of the bathroom. She tells you to lock yourself in the bathroom with the kids and to keep your voice down. She tells you that police are on the way.

You can hear this burglar rummaging through the bedrooms. Who is this person and what is he looking for? You hear the footsteps getting closer. You inform the operator and she reassures you that help is on the way. She's calming. She sounds certain that you are going to make it through this without injury. You will survive. Help is on the way. You try to fight the tears and remain calm for the frightened children that are staring into your eyes. Silently you pray.

Just as you close your eyes to ask Jesus for salvation, the room door burst open and all that separates you from this madman and your children is a bathroom door. Thank God she told you to lock yourself in there. Your kids start to cry hysterically. The voice on the other end tells you that the officers have finally arrived. They are making their way inside. You hear them now. They are shouting commands. They have the lunatic that broke into your home. The voice tells you that the subject is in custody and that you can step out for the officer. You are safe.

Here's the same story from the other end. A story that is not to0 often shared.

A 911 operator finishes a call where she gave CPR instructions to a 12 year old boy whose mom wasn't breathing. She just spoke to the Staff Sergeant who informed her that the mom didn't make it. The story tugs at her heart as she remembers how scared he was. She couldn’t help but to think of her own son. He was screaming that his mom was going to die. This wasn’t going to happen on her watch. She reassured him. He needs to be strong. She needs him to help his mommy. She needed him to be brave and follow her instructions. He could do this.

She let him down. His mom did not make it. When the officers arrived, his mom was already gone. They tried CPR, but it was too late. For every good call, there's ten bad ones. This was supposed to be her day off. She switched days off with a fellow co-worker because he couldn’t take the day off to be with his wife for surgery. The shift was short again. He would have worked his life around for her. It’s something you get used to around here.  Due to staff shortage, it’s not rare to exchange a day off with someone. It’s all about being there for your family. Everyone understood.

She is not able to take a break yet and decided to take one more call before running to the bathroom to cry her eyes out. Some calls stay with you. They never go away. But, maybe she’ll be lucky this time and this boys screams won’t haunt her dreams. The next call will make her forget. It will go away. It had to.

Her next call is a screaming woman. The woman doesn't know her address. She's handled this before. She calms the caller down and mutes the phone as she asks her supervisor to try to trace the call. Someone is breaking into this citizen’s house. At the same time, she creates the call to start officers to the general area where the cell phone grid. She starts adding comments to the call. She forgets about the 12 year old boy who is without a mother. This woman needs her now.

The police dispatcher has been busy all night. It seems that when there's a full moon, all the crazy people want to come out and play. The day started with someone trying to kill themselves, leading the police in an extensive foot pursuit, which resulted in minor lacerations to an officer who struggled to get the knife away from the subject just in time. She hasn’t stopped talking and she is in dire need of a bathroom break. She shouldn’t have had the large coffee. But, caffeine is what keeps her moving. She really has to go, but there is no one to relieve her. She feels the stress start to build up. Air traffic is busy.

From deadly vehicle crashes, to mothers fighting with daughters, boyfriends slapping their girlfriends, loud barking dogs and robberies; She’s ready for some quiet time. Finally it slows down a little and she finally managed to dispatch an officer to the vehicle accident that has been holding for two hours. It's been raining. She feels bad, but due to recent cut backs, there aren’t enough units to go around.  If only the public knew.

Just as she thinks she'll finally be able to take a breath and maybe take a sip of water, she gets a call about an unknown person attempting to break into a residence. She asks for an officer to clear from a call. They are all tied up on some priority call. There are no units available.

The officer who was on his way to the vehicle accident that was holding for two hours, informs her that he hasn't arrived yet. He'll take the call and then respond back to the crash. She feels bad. The call will hold, yet again, but there aren't any lives in danger...just property damages. They can wait a little longer. She hopes that they understand and don’t call back requesting an ETA. We have the call and an officer will respond.

She requests a unit to back up that officer. The sergeant who is tending to the injured officer says he will go and then come back to the officer. There is no one else available. Just then the call heats up. The subject has made it inside the house. The complainant on the call is now locking herself in the bathroom. Her heart starts to race and she starts a game plan in her head, just in case this goes bad. After the many difficult calls she has handled, she knows that every second counts. Everyone is going home tonight.

The responding officer hears the information over the radio. He is tired. He's worked double shifts the last two days. He's can't remember the last time he tucked his kids into bed or cuddled up next to his wife at night. His weekends are Tuesday and Wednesday. He is sleep deprived and hungry. He turns his lights and sirens on and drives a little over the speed limit in the rain, just as he was taught in the academy. He wants this scumbag in handcuffs and in the backseat of his police car. That could've been his house, his family in danger.

He arrives at the house and waits for back up. After all, he doesn't know if this subject is armed and he really wants to make it to his son's baseball game later on that afternoon. He takes a peak into the back yard. He sees the broken glass and advises the dispatcher. He request additional units, just in case the subject runs out, and begins to call out perimeter points around the house.  There’s no way in hell this guy is getting away. He is going to jail tonight.

A couple of other officers arrive on the scene and he advises the dispatcher to hold the radio traffic, he's going in. He draws out his gun. He has his back up right behind him. He’s the first going in. His heart starts to beat a little faster. Everything inside him is screaming for help, telling him to turn around but, he is help. If he doesn't go in there, who else will? He closes his eyes for a brief second and makes a quick prayer. Lord, let me make it through one more. He walks in.

It isn't difficult to see where the burglar went. He follows the mud prints through the kitchen, past the hallway and to the staircase. Thank God for the rain. Just as he makes his way up the stairs, he hears the door being slammed open. He rushes up the stairs, not sure of what he will find when he sees the subject about to walk into the bedroom. POLICE! He announces, LEMME SEE YOUR HANDS! LEMME SEE YOUR HANDS! Luckily the guy comes out, hands first. No weapons in sight. GET ON THE FLOOR! GET DOWN!! The subject is down. He walks over, gun drawn and ready to shoot. He hears his back up approaching and when he gets the ok, he walks over and handcuffs the subject. Case closed.

He gets on the radio again. Tells the dispatcher that the subject is in custody and to advise the complainant that she can step out. He walks into the fourth door from the left of the staircase to hear the bathroom door cautiously open. He says in a firm but gentle voice, its ok ma'am we got him. C'mon out. She runs out and into his arms. She gives him a tight hug, thank you. Thank you so much. He smiles. Just doing my job ma'am.

He transports the dirt bag to jail, Finishes his report. The vehicle accident had to be given to another unit. His shift is over. He has enough time to stop at a local coffee house before heading home and taking the kids to school. He's dead tired, but he has to go to court after he drops the kids off. Caffeine is a miracle. Hopefully, his court appearance doesn't take long and he can catch some sleep before picking up the kids in the afternoon. He has to work again tonight.

He sits back in his police cruiser and he starts to think of the uncertainty. The many times he's had a close call. The many situations he's wanted to run from, but instead runs into. He thinks of the disrespect he deals with from every angle. And yet, these are the same people that look to him for reassurance that everything will be ok. But, who does this for him? He thinks of the pending budget cuts and whether or not it's all worth it. He always wanted to be a cop. He wanted to be a hero. He wanted to help people. But, the cost is his life. He looks at the time. He's going to be late to get the kids. He wants to call his wife to drop them off, but he fights the temptation. He needs to see his kids. He’s doing this for them. As he sets his car into drive, he thinks to himself, things could be worse. He could be without a job. Yet again, he could have lost his life today. He drives off not knowing if today will be the last day he takes his kids to school. It's just another day in paradise.

What was your work day like?

I am a writer

As quick as it started, it ended. A friend of mine once told me that she thinks I suffer from A.D.D. I’m starting to suspect that she is right. The words start to flow in my head and if I don’t immediately get them all down, they go away. It’s like there’s this pathway to this hidden creativity that roams the world. If I don’t grasp the idea as quick as it comes, it will go away and fall on someone else’s shoulder. Make their way to a known, published writer or some word genius who sits around waiting…leaving me with a desire to become a published  and successful writer one day.

At times I wonder if this dream will ever come true. I’ve wanted this from the time I was a little girl. Actually, I think I wanted to run my own publication. I started with my spin on the New York newspaper, The Daily News…I called it The Daily Kids. The paper started as an attempt to make candy money. I sold it for twenty five cents a copy. I was also under the impression that whatever was written or printed on paper, in coupon form, would be honored. So, I created coupons for the things that I wanted. Barbie’s and dollhouses, books and stationary. Sometimes, my mom would honor them and other times, she would laugh and say that she would buy it when she won the lottery. To this day, she owes me soo much!

As I got older, the dream kinda sorta faded. I began to concern myself with the things that other kids were worried about. Hair, clothes, music and who was cute and who wasn’t. My road map was thrown off track. Soon after I got married and my priorities changed. My passion became my husband and my household. I wanted to start a family and was heading in that direction. Eventually, I lost myself and my dreams. Being a writer was far from my thoughts. Occasionally, I would right in my journal. I found that I only wrote when I was down about something. It was my release. As my marriage began to fail, my words became my only sanctuary.

I didn’t rely on them as much as I should’ve. I did start to count on alcohol a whole lot more. In fact, it became my best friend. I became addicted to that feeling of NOT feeling. It felt good to not be in control. To follow that initial instinct and not worry about the consequences made me happy. At least, I felt happy at the moment. The morning after was a whole other story. After making several mistakes, one of which was drunk driving, I decided a change was in order. Thankfully, I did not injure someone or myself, but I did wake up the next morning in my bed with no recollection of leaving the club, driving home or crawling into bed. I was done.

I don’t know what changed in my at that moment, but I have never again been that intoxicated and I am very well aware of my limits in regards to drinking. With that said, I had the desire in my to write at that point, but I didn’t know where or how to start. Keep in mind, that my whole life, prior to that, I never had to work at words. They just came to me. But, now I found myself fighting for the words. Craving to have them embedded in my brain and have them flow out on my computer or on paper.

Lines came out at me, but not full paragraphs. I followed my other passion…reading. I began picking up books. Each word was a struggle that I never had to face before. But, I forced myself to get into it. I read, not for pleasure but because I had to. I had to rediscover my love of words. No matter how horrible the book, I was going to force my brain to like it. It was a learning experience after all.

After some time, the words slowly began to make their way back to me. Little by little poetry formed, then I discovered blogging. Disorganized thoughts became post. I even joined a writing group. One day, one of my writing mates, came up with a writing schedule. If we wanted to be published writers, we had to dedicate time. I was going to do this. I was going to write a book.

Well, the time that I was supposed to dedicate to my best selling novel, became dominated by my blog post. Each becoming organized and reader friendly, but again, I had no direction. I created a new blog after joining a blog challenge. This was going to be the beginning of awesome. I was going to be a writer. I even had business cards made.

As I sit in this French café, enjoying my Mochacchino and croissant, I have yet to figure out the direction I want to take as a writer. It’s a dream that I have held for a very long time in my heart. The words still struggle and for the first time I find myself working towards something. I have decided that I have job security and I feel comfortable where I am right now. But, this is not where I want to see myself when I am forty. My dream is to become a writer. My dream is to live part time in New York City with my apartment being steps away from The Village. I want to jog in Central Park in the morning and catch the train to have dinner with my mom by Yankee Stadium. The flame has not burned out, it’s being re-ignited and I will reach my goal. One word at a time…