50th Birthday Post

Dearest readers,

On May 22 I will be fifty years old. Fifty years of living and loving in this body. It’s been a remarkable journey so far!

I always love it when I get a little glimpse into the personal lives of the authors I read here on Substack. I thought this was a great time to return the favor and tell all of you a little something about me beyond my usual topics of magic, ancestors, and archetypes.

Unsure what bits of my life to choose, I made a list of fifty potentially interesting things, put them into a bowl and drew out five. I’m trusting that the Universe felt these were the five you all most wanted to know.

In no particular order…

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It took me a very long time to get a college degree.

The issue wasn’t that I was a bad student. It was that I couldn’t decide on a degree. Growing up, I had always assumed I’d do something in math or science, influenced by my mother, a math teacher, and my father, an astrophysicist.

I began University life with a pre-med declaration, but after a couple years realized that wasn’t for me. I then switched to pharmacy, only to discover I disliked everything about that. Driven by my love for animals, I then considered a career in veterinary science. I even relocated to attend a university with a wildlife biology program, but soon realized I didn’t care for that either.

I remember writing a letter to my Dad and telling him that the only part of a chemistry class that held my interest was when the professor discussed chemists from the past. I asked my Dad if he thought this made me a bad scientist. It didn’t occur to me that this could’ve been a big, neon arrow pointing me to a love of history,

I had to do a lot of digging, but finally found a picture of me during those early college years. When I zoom way in, I’m pretty sure I can see that the subject I’m studying in this pic is organic chemistry.

Then I had a baby and stepped away from school altogether for a few years. During that time, I read a lot of historical romance novels and decided I wanted to write one myself. This would require me to intentionally learn some history for the first time in my life. And I fell in love.

It basically meant starting from scratch when I finally did go back to school, but, finally after FIFTEEN years, I earned a degree in history. (Not sure I’ve actually used this degree for anything, but that’s a story for another day.)

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I’m a novelist at heart

(How convenient that this ties so seamlessly to the previous section!)

When my son was born, I worked at home as a medical transcriptionist. While waiting for files to arrive from the doctors, I spent my time on the computer writing novels. I distinctly remember the feeling of elation I had when I’d actually finished writing a book for the first time. Just as clearly, I remember the feeling of heartbreak that came with the first rejection letter from a publisher. But that first novel (a historical romance entitled The Promise) was REALLY BAD. It needed to be rejected.

That was just the beginning, though, and to date, I’ve written 13 novels. Somewhere along the way, I switched to the fantasy genre and finally did publish a trilogy. (You can still find the original Kindle version of it on Amazon, but the 2nd edition in all formats is in the works.)

Life circumstances, including the death of a publishing partner, have shifted my focus to nonfiction for the time being. But the process of world building is part of the fabric of who I am. Even now, if I’m having trouble sleeping at night, I find myself drifting towards a fictional land that wants to be created. I suspect one day a new series of novels will come from this place.

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I grew up in the country

Until I went away to college and moved to the big city of Albuquerque, I was a country girl through and through. We had horses, chickens and even a goat. With trees to climb and miles to roam, the great outdoors was our playground.

We never had paved roads, so we could only roller skate around in a little circle in the garage, but we made do. And we DID get to do fun things like pull each other around on a sled via horseback in the winter.

That’s me on the sled waving at the camera, sitting with my cousin Eddie. My sister is on the horse and our dog, Schwartz, is leading the way.

There’s something special about experiencing one’s formative years with a lack of pavement (I even learned how to drive on a ditch bank). Being so intimately connected to dirt gave me a sense of freedom and rawness that is hard to replicate in any other setting. The simplicity of running through fields, climbing trees, and exploring the world without the constraints of concrete brought with it a unique joy that has stayed with me through these fifty years. It was in those moments of unfiltered connection to the land that I first learned about myself and my place in the world.

Looking back, I realize that my childhood—with all its spaciousness and fresh air—is what laid the foundation for a life of noticing the interconnectedness of all beings, in both the seen and unseen realms.

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I was once a bartender

A few years back, my husband was a sales rep for a local brewery. As part of his role, he managed a booth at beer festivals. Someone thought it would be a good idea for me to get a server’s license and help out at these festivals. The thing is, crowded spaces filled with intoxicated people tends to not be my favorite sort of environment.

But I decided to be a good sport about it and serve beer as cheerfully as I could muster. I truly believed I was serving with my warmest, friendliest smile.

The photographic evidence says otherwise:

(It’s pretty blurry, but it’s basically my annoyed-as-hell expression. The fact that I’m awash in a Wicked Witch of the West hue doesn’t help the situation.)

It was probably a blessing for all involved that I only ended up doing this twice.

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I got to be an archeologist

It was a dream come true. I got the opportunity to participate in an archeological dig at an ancient pueblo here in New Mexico. The Jemez tribe—the descendants of the ancient people who built this particular pueblo—did a ceremony to bless the dig and were present throughout the excavation.

We were all given a brief training by the state archeologist and then began excavating the site. In my very first trowel-full of dirt, I uncovered a beautiful piece of pottery. Soon after, up came an arrowhead. The whole process—from surveying, to digging, to sifting, to recording—filled me with absolute delight. Being in the dirt, touching history, fueled by the thrill of discovery…it was all of my favorite things combined.

The first arrowhead I ever found on my first archeological dig.

But then came a moment of uncertainty that I am still processing to this day. I pulled from the ground what at first appeared to be an ordinary rock. As I gazed at it, however, I realized it was a stone axe. I glanced up out of the pit and saw a Jemez man standing above, watching me. I was suddenly filled with conflict. It was the Jemez man’s ancestors who’d made the axe. For over six hundred years it had rested in the earth. The next hands that held it were mine, a descendant of colonizers.

Even though the excavation had been blessed, I felt I was trespassing. This was not my history to dig up. As an American whose ancestors left their homeland, I’m not sure there’s anywhere on Earth that holds a history that is rightfully mine to dig.

But the Jemez man smiled from ear to ear when he saw the hand axe. He helped me out of the pit so he could hold it in his own hands. And then he thanked me for my work in bringing to him this precious piece of his ancestry.

Me with the stone axe.

While it didn’t erase the conflicted feeling within me, I wonder if it was a moment of healing for both of us, as well as our ancestors. Maybe in working together with love and appreciation of the history of the land, a sort of mending occurred.

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As I celebrate these fifty years of life, I’m so thankful to have you all on this journey with me. May each of you reading this be blessed with 50 years (or more!) of profound fulfillment.

Sending love to you all!