I have come to believe that life is about the little things – those fleeting, seemingly insignificant moments that, when viewed with the clarity of hindsight, align like a constellation to map the unfolding journey of our lives. 

At least, that’s true for me. Case in point: I wrote a novel. While there are lots of people who write books and plenty more who want to, I was never interested. I was all for heartfelt messages in birthday cards and a little poetry when inspiration struck. I even attempted a children’s book manuscript when my son was born (not to mention some truly awful song lyrics that hopefully never see the light of day). But for my entire life I had zero interest in writing a novel…until I wrote one.

How did that happen? Did some big, dramatic event change my mind? Nope. It was a series of small, ostensibly unrelated moments that built upon each other one by one. 

Together, they changed me.

2006: A colleague casually mentioned that in addition to our chaotic, high-stress tech industry day jobs, he was a writer. Screenplays in his case. That got me thinking…and eventually writing a personal account of my daughter’s premature birth. It was cathartic and enjoyable, and I thought that was it.

Eleven years later: I attended a training course about how to use the hero’s journey to make our corporate messages and presentations more resonant. You might think it was the content about story structure and character arcs that inspired me, but that wasn’t it. It was the introductions at the start of the course. The instructor asked us to share standard fare: our name, department, length of service, that kind of thing. But he also requested something I hadn’t seen before: our professional superpower. 

About a week later: I was telling my daughter about the class and I mentioned the interesting round of introductions. That prompted her to ask about my superpower. I was reluctant to tell her because it’s rather unusual and something that took me decades to fully understand. Honestly, I didn’t think she’d get it. But she didn’t look at me like I had three heads when I shared it with her, she thought it was cool. And that got me thinking (again): it’s unusual; my teenage daughter thinks it’s interesting; I’m probably not the only one with this superpower. Maybe there’s a story there.

Two years later: Driving back from one of my daughter’s out-of-town gymnastic meets, I came clean that I had been playing with the idea of writing a book. A novel with a main character that is grappling to figure out her superpower. Stuck in the car, my daughter and I spent hours talking about characters and plot and ideas for cover art and made up names for a nom de plume. It was fun and the hours flew by.

A few months later: Yes, you guessed it…the pandemic hit. My every-other-week business travel ended and my suitcase was gathering dust in the closet. Activities and appointments disappeared from the calendar, leaving time to explore new things like mapping out characters (for real this time) and creating a loose plot outline (bullets, really). And that was it. I was hooked.

So there you have it – the sequence of random events that led right up to the day in July of 2020 when I pulled out my laptop and started Chapter One. I had lots to learn about the craft, the business of writing, and everything in between, but that’s fodder for another day. Today is about celebrating the long circuitous path that led me to become a writer. 

I find it fascinating that something I never considered doing – didn’t even want to do – turned into something I love, all because of a few very ordinary moments. Conversations with people on days that aren’t worthy of a shelf in the greeting card aisle changed me. 

I find that inspiring and oh so hopeful – because it means you never know who, or what, will open you up to something new and wonderful. 

It could happen today.

Here’s to the little moments.