I am a writer, who does not write. A singer, who does not sing. I have a heart, swelling up with ambitions and dreams and things I could have been, but I am none of them…at least not yet. For years, I’ve nurtured this small spark of a belief that I was created for something special…something grand and limitless, but years later, I still feel utterly unaccomplished. I shouldn’t say that. Actually, I’ve done a lot…married a man almost too remarkable to be true, summoned the courage to leave the company that raised me, and moved, unprompted to a city that I always dreamt of living in, but never thought I could.
I can do it. I can accomplish things that I never thought possible…I hope.