My middle daughter and my youngest daughter, circa 1997 outside the newspaper where I worked at the time.

The picture above is of me at approximately 29 years old. Two of my daughters are with me outside the daily newspaper where I worked—my oldest daughter is probably inside the building, chatting up the reporters in the newsroom. My youngest daughter recently posted it on her Instagram (she’s the baby in the picture).

She is currently 29; her older sisters 30 and 34, respectively.

What follows is a bit of introspection and work-in-progress exposition for my next book.

I remember this part of my life as one where I started to get an idea of who I was and what I wanted. My first marriage was behind me. My career was starting to stabilize. I had purchased a car and a condo on my own—no cosigners.

The road to this picture was a long one. I’m trying to write this cohesively, but thoughts are cascading through my head, all vying for supremacy as they hurtle through my fingers.

We had lived in subsidized housing for two years, moving in when Elizabeth was a newborn. My rent on our apartment at the time was $123.00 a month (its market value was $546 a month). I worked my ass off, saving and learning how to manage a stable income—to the point where two years later, my rent for that same apartment had increased to $424.00 a month (the rent was based on a sliding scale or income ratio).

I remember that a real estate agent who advertised with the newspaper pulled me aside one day and told me that at that payment, I could own my own place. When I look back at the people in my orbit at that time, I realized how many people were rooting for me—even then, I had a cheerleader section. Most of the time, I was oblivious of it, even though I was grateful and expressed that gratitude often.

At the time, it never occurred to me that the cheerleading section was there because I was grateful, but I digress.

Based on the advice of the aforementioned real estate agent, we moved into a two-story townhouse in one of the better neighborhoods in town, with three bedrooms, two bathrooms, under-unit garage, deck, lawn service and central air. The woman who lived across the alley from us was a gardening buff who used to chat with me about her flowers. She was the daughter of one of the founding members of the town’s larger banks, and at age 80+, had never driven a car in her life. She had always been chauffeured.

Speaking of cars, for the longest time, I drove a bucket of bolts (and was grateful for it). Prior to owning it, I relied on friends to ferry me where I needed to go. On the times when my car wouldn’t start in the morning, someone at the circulation department of the newspaper would send out a van to take my kids to school and bring me in to work. Eventually, I was able to buy a new-to-me used car: a 1988 Toyota Camry with a fluid clutch.

I really loved that car. In it, we took our first real vacation to the Black Hills of South Dakota (an aside: I am a huge Laura Ingalls Wilder fan). The impetus for this vacation was to visit various homes of hers. We started at Burr Oak, Iowa (where Grace was born), then to Pepin, Wisconsin. From Wisconsin, we drove to Walnut Grove, Minnesota (the dugout), and then to De Smet, North Dakota, where we visited the Surveyor’s Cabin in addition to the Ingalls’s home in De Smet proper.

We drove to Devil’s Tower, to Mount Rushmore, through Custer State Park and the Badlands. I can remember feeling incredibly proud of myself for being able to pay for the whole thing on my own. Only years earlier, I had been a single mother on welfare, living first with my mother and then, as I mentioned, subsidized housing.

At the time this picture was taken, I was also serving on five boards—donating my time to capacity-building organizations, all the while absorbing lessons that would inform the nonprofit I would later establish.

I didn’t date for a long time. My focus was on my three daughters. We formed a tightly-bound team, one that holds to this day. My daughters literally made me who I am today.

Not sure how to wrap this up.

We are at once all of the lives we have lived and the life we are currently experiencing. Whether it’s a mental metaverse or a cumulative layering of timelines, I know that the woman in that picture still exists somewhere within me. I’m glad for the opportunity to build upon the foundation she created.

Thanks for supporting my work, and I’ll check in with you soon.

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