This week I saw my name on the spine of a book and not just one. Book after book piled high on the table, awaiting my autograph, the first copies to leave the warehouse and my first introduction – at a ripe old age - to the world of published authors. I cannot begin to describe the feeling. Above all else, the word “lucky” comes to mind.
Coming home, I opened Twitter to say a little something about my excitement and was, instead, overwhelmed with beautiful but haunting photographs of frightened people trapped on beaches, in camps, on trains; shoeless mothers, grandmothers and children walking their slow way to Austria; massive crowds, frightened, angry, excited, exhausted, brave… displaced through no fault of their own, their only mistake to be born in a place where atrocities daily interrupt the simple tasks of a dignified life. First empathy, then helplessness, then a gargantuan wave of gratitude washed over me for the multitude of privileged circumstances that make me who I am. Contrast their suffering and insecurity to my own week of joy, and I am humbled once again. I not only have a safe house, a warm bed and more than a few meals squirreled on my cupboard shelves, I have the time and means to be creative.
Ever since I was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis many years back now, I’ve considered myself to be the luckiest woman in the world. Hyperbole, of course. But because I am bothered by it less than most who acquire this mysterious, stinking disease, I have the luxury and hubris to think of it as a gift of sorts, a reminder to be in the moment, create like mad with the time I have, and remember to take my life and my whines with a grain of salt. I didn’t do anything to deserve such luck in that or any other aspect of my life. A combination of good fortune, geography and genes are to thank. My family, my country, my race, my education, and sheer serendipity have all conspired to make my existence materially better than 99 percent of the people on earth and have enabled me to experience the more wondrous side of human life - hope and creativity. While writing the book was undeniably hard work, the fact that I had the opportunity to write it at all speaks to the grace and good fortune I experience every day.
Twenty-five years ago, I was lucky enough to meet Will and Jean-Louis and earn their trust. We were incredibly fortunate we didn’t kill anybody climbing those mountains and flying those airplanes. I was blessed to have found the time and energy to write and had such fabulous stories to tell. Now, I am lucky that MNHS Press saw the book’s value and worked so hard to get a beautiful volume piled on the table so quickly, lucky my family and friends are working to spread the word.
Somewhere in that crowd of women walking to Austria maybe there is one, two or three women whose circumstances, means and ambition will conspire to help them write their story someday. I hope there are people along the way to help. I’d like to be among them. But at least if I’m still here, I’ll get in line to buy the book.