Smiling on Staten Island

What a difference 72 hours makes...

Same Staten Island Starbucks. Same overpriced order of mint tea. But three days have passed since I sat here on Monday evening, after dropping my daughter off at her flag football practice, and received the email I’d been waiting for with the answer I’d been dreading.

There are no tears tonight. Instead, I feel peace, and gratitude, and more determination than ever to get my memoir out into the world.

It hurts a lot. Then it hurts less. And we show ourselves how strong we are.

Over the last few days, as I’ve processed this unexpected fork in the road, I have received so many messages of love and support from all corners of my life. I don’t feel embarrassed to have admitted to failing at snagging my book deal of dreams. I feel seen, and buoyed, and cared for by so many wonderful people. And that makes me feel even more driven to get my book out there, to realize my goal of being a published author. What is more faith-inducing than having such extreme vulnerability be received with such compassion, love, and encouragement? I truly cannot express (though I’m trying!) how much each and every text, DM, email, Google Chat, phone call, in-person conversation, in-person hug, and virtual hug has meant to me.

My sweet son even wrote me a letter:

Your talent and persistentniss will get you throug the highs and lows!!! And if you work as hard as you have been working your book will be a bestsellar!! We all love you and are very passionatly rooting for you!

My heart is full.

When I received the big “no”, my first instinct was to write. Because I am a writer. I wanted to capture how I felt at the very moment that my dream publishing house shut the door on me. The moment my biggest and most audacious professional goal took its biggest and most devastating hit. The moment I had to make a choice:

Do I give up or do I forge ahead?

I took a selfie because I wanted to document my anguish. Because even then, in that moment of complete heartbreak, consumed by self-doubt, I wanted witness myself feeling the brunt of all that pain, and then witness myself making the choice to move through it.

There’s a reason why I chose “failure” as my word for 2025. As I wrote in my first post of the year, I want to work to reclaim failure as the moment where the most meaningful growth happens. I wrote about how I encourage the women in my fitness classes to work their muscles to failure because that’s how we get stronger. I wrote about how I wanted to see where else I could apply this idea of failure as growth, failure as an opportunity to build strength.

Well, here I am.

I failed to secure a book deal with a brilliant, creative, women-led publishing house. But I also have a manuscript that is so much better because of the year I spent working with this publishing house, and the incredible feedback and expertise and encouragement I received from them. Even if my book no longer fits into their list, my story is no less worthy of being published. My dream is no less worthy of being realized.

Some dreams—the best dreams—take, and are worth, the most effort.

I failed. And guess what? I’m okay. Now, it’s time to grow.