Writing my first book took four years. Four years of trial and error, self-discovery, and conquering the terrifyingly real fear of putting myself out there for the world to see. And being judged for it. I always say it’s the equivalent of giving a speech butt naked in front of a crowded room. Emotionally naked. Vulnerable. And there’s nothing more satisfying than accomplishing, overcoming, triumphing, and holding my own creation … a book … my book … in my hands.
Tangible fruition of a dream.
Little did I know big dream one (writing a book, or three) would spontaneously birth big dream two (traveling the world).
– Kim Holden
“So often I feel consumed with obsessing over all the things I want or need, or the things I need to change. Of course that motivation and constant drive leads me to great things, but I think in this moment, on that church pew, with Kevin’s shadow projected across the white walls, I learned to find peace and happiness along the way; to be totally happy with where I am in the moment while still understanding and being ok with all the things I am working towards. I felt comfortable in my loneliness, in my skin, and in my position in the world.”
– Sari Delmar
“Hey, don’t you live in LA?”
Each time, a little reminder; each time a little stab. As I explained my situation time and time again, a second question joined the mix.
“Hey, when are you moving to England?”
These two questions rang in my ears day and night, reminding me that my life didn’t seem to be moving forward in any way. Instead, it sat just kind of stalled here in Toronto, a city I’d given 10 years of my life to and was no longer in love with.