Who Were YOU Ten Years Ago?

What a difference a decade makes.

Okay, think back to this time in 2014. What was your life like? Pretty similar? Mine was not.

Ten years ago, I had a different husband, a different name, a different house. No job. I was pregnant with my fourth child. And if that wasn’t enough, I was in Disney World — in August.

To make matters worse, I’d hurt my knee trying to run while pregnant earlier in the summer (yes, I used to be obsessed with working out) and had to take a ride-on, rental scooter to get around the park. Given my sub-par driving skills, I could barely navigate the machine and ended up getting stuck riding up and down on an elevator because I couldn’t maneuver it out in time. I remember hysterically laughing, trapped.

But really I wanted to cry. (Side note: can anyone identify the book in my purse?!)

It was a difficult time. I’d lost myself.

And then, everything changed. I made some really tough decisions and steered the ship of my life in a new direction, an about-face that caused a lot of seasickness, but ultimately led to calmer waters.

Fast forward four years to 2018. I’d started my podcast a few months earlier and had decided to take a booth at Authors Night at the East Hampton Library to promote it. They gave me a tiny table tucked away in a corner where I did a couple of very loud podcasts.

I’d just written another novel — that also wouldn’t sell — called Forty Love about falling in love again at age 40. The best part about it was that my grandmother got to read it before she passed away three years later. She’d always been a champion of my writing, asking me every time she called: “Are you writing anything, dear-heart?” Now I just wish she were here to read what I’m writing. But it’s okay. She knows.

And now, fast forward to 2024. Last Saturday night, I got my own table at the East Hampton Library’s Authors Night as one of the authors signing my own hardcover novel, Blank. Sitting there alongside authors I adore, many of whom have become good friends, signing books for anyone who came my way, I couldn’t stop smiling.

People kept commenting that I was beaming. Yes, I was, because not only had I finally gotten a novel published after trying to do so since 2003… and not only had I somehow figured out a way to grow that little podcast in the corner into a show with 1,900 episodes and almost 14 million downloads (woot, woot!)… but I’d also found myself. And alongside doing that, I’d connected with countless others.

One woman came up to me at Authors Night and told me I’d changed her life after I wrote a Substack about Monjauro. She went on it after I said how much it had helped me, lost 25 pounds, and changed her entire life. Another person came by and told me she remembered when I’d first started coming to Authors Night and was excited to see me there. Others thanked me for the On Being Jewish Now anthology they’d heard was coming out — and, in case they hadn’t, I had a huge sign about it in front of my signing station.

All the connections the past ten years. The laughs. The tears. The shared experiences. The team. Why not smile? (Blocking out all the chaos of the wider world, of course, as I watch the news and tremble.) From lonely to love-all, in a decade.

If I could give the me of ten years ago any advice, it would be:

1. It’s never too late.

2. You are never as stuck as you feel.

3. Life will continue to surprise you.

4. Laugh at the little things.

5. Squeeze your kids tight.

6. Don’t worry so much.

7. Never turn down a hug.

8. Don’t take no for an answer if you don’t believe it’s the right one.

9. Rejection doesn’t mean a wholesale rejection of you; it’s a rejection of one way of telling the story. Find another way.

10. Take your time.

11. Downloads don’t happen overnight. They take time. Just like friendships.

12. There is no such thing as a shortcut.

13. Deep connections take time to sink in. And last longer.

14. Speak out when something feels wrong.

15. Don’t be afraid.

16. And for goodness sake, don’t go to Disney in August, pregnant.

My mom used to give me advice before she dropped me off at school dances. “Just be yourself,” she’d tell me. Well, who’s that? I’d think. I deemed her advice useless.

Turns out, that was the most important lesson of all. It just took me a while to figure out who I was. I’m so glad I didn’t stop looking.

I hope you don’t, either.