As I sat at the table clutching my name card, I realized that I was holding my breath. Bruno Mars was singing in the background, and there were flowers and candles everywhere. In the last two weeks, since I had won this ticket, I had imagined a thousand different scenarios, but those weren't even close. "Honey, somewhere along the path you stopped dreaming," my friend Jenny told me last week when I was complaining about coming here alone. "Just go and take it all in," she had said. Easy for her to say.
"You must be Bethany," she said, sitting down next to me. I blinked, twice, as I sat there staring at Barbara DeMarco-Barrett. She was even prettier in person.
"Um, yes," I said, straightening out my name card and setting on the table. "I won this ticket a few weeks ago."
"Well, it's nice to meet you," she said as if she meant it. "Are you a writer?"
"It's always been a dream of mine, but no, at this point, I can't say that I am." I wondered if I sounded as pathetic as I felt. "I've read your book twice, and just haven't sat down to figure out what I have to say."
She laughed, "But that's the whole point of the book! You only have to find fifteen minutes to say something, anything." She looked around to make sure no one was listening to us. "If I'm going to be honest, I'm one of those people who procrastinates till the last minute, but once I get started I find it's much easier. That first step is a doozie."
I relaxed a bit in her honesty. She was just a regular person. "But what if I find out that what I have to say isn't anything special. This way, by not committing to anything, I can hold onto my dream."
She was shaking her head and smiling, "But what's the point in dreaming if you're not going to do anything about it? Following our dreams is what life is about, otherwise you're just wasting time being untrue to yourself." She took a drink of her wine, " Is that what you want for yourself?"
"No," I said. "But it's not that easy. I don't have anywhere to start." I knew these were all excuses, but this conversation wasn't going as I had planned, and I wasn't prepared to hear these cold, hard facts.
"You just said you've read my book twice! You do realize those exercises were specifically for writers like you, who are confused on where to start and need to find their voice."
I knew what she was saying made sense, but a part of me wanted to just hide at this point. She watched me carefully.
"I'll make you a deal," she said. "I'm starting a new workshop next month, and I want to personally invite you to join. If after that you still can't find the time to write, then you'll find a new dream. A writer without a project is like a salesman without a product. It's just not going to work."
I nodded, knowing what she said was perfectly true. "Okay, I'll do it," I said. I took a sip of my own wine and smiled. I was going to do a Writer's Workshop!
She patted my hand, "Like I said, that first step is a doozie, but the results will be so worth it. I promise."
As if on cue, a speaker at the front of the room asked everyone to sit down at their tables so we could begin dinner. "If you'll excuse me, I'm expected to speak before dinner is served," she said, squeezing my hand before getting up.
She stood at the podium, and winked at me before she started. She proceeded to speak with clarity about the joy and torture of following your dreams every day of your life. It's as if she had planned to the speech specifically for me, and half-way through I started to believe it was possible.
At least I knew that it was going to be worth trying. And if I failed, I would have the ability to keep trying till I found something that worked for me.
So, thank you Barbara. This book is a treasure, and even though this meeting only happened in my head, I still believe you have changed my life through your words.
Now it's my turn.
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