Looking Ahead and Leaping Forward

On Telling My Own Story

I’ve been telling stories for a long time. 

Ever since my days as a student journalist at LSU.

There was a story that made me know, without a doubt, that I wanted to dedicate my life to it.

The story began with a teenage boy who was murdered in a drug related crime in Baton Rouge, Louisiana.

I interviewed the boy’s mother. I sat on the doorsteps of her home and listened as she opened up to me about her son. What he was like, his personality, his smile, what he’d hoped to be one day.

Her son, she said, had somehow gotten off track, fell into the wrong crowd, the wrong things. And he paid the price with his life.

By the end of my time with her, I could see her son as a human rather than a headline. I could more deeply understand the human need to survive, to belong. And that the environment that we were born and bred in is pure lottery.

After our interview, I sat in my car silently for a long while and thought about this mother and her son. 

That is when I knew with absolute certainty that I wanted to spend the rest of my life telling stories.

And I would for the next decade. Stories of women affected by human trafficking, stories of people risking their lives in pursuit of freedom across the Arab world during the 2011 Arab Spring. Stories about the mental-health effects of ambitious visionary entrepreneurs in New Orleans.

There are few things that liven my spirit more than sitting down with a blank canvas to write someone’s story. 

Storytellers are gatekeepers to the truth. And I have always considered it honored, privileged work.

But for a long time now I have been feeling an internal pull to tell another story. To tell my own.

But a number of things have kept me from doing so, namely fear and insecurity. 

Why would anyone want to read my story? Who cares what I have to say? There are so many other stories that are far more interesting than mine. 

I’ve swayed back and forth, convinced myself for all of these reasons not to. 

But as the past 80+ days have shown me, to write is to resist.

I’m finally pushing back against these fear-based notions. 

Why?

Because becoming a mother unleashed some invisible life force within me that I have yet to fully grasp or tame. Because I believe my story is worth telling. And most of all, because I trust you - my beloved readers - who have said to me in many different ways, keep writing. 

This is not a new year’s resolution. This is a dream, a desire, a calling long in the making.

I launched my Substack in August of last summer, and worked slowly and steadily on it while my son Jaad napped. I wanted to experiment, to see if this was a thing I truly enjoyed, or if it was something I felt like I had to do. 

Much to my delight, I have found a community of thoughtful, kind and supportive writers. Here, I have finally found my home as a writer. 

I’m uncertain of how this will take shape, and if I can sustain it.

But what I know is that I can’t wait any longer.

As Maya Angelou once said: “There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside of you.”

In the new year, I will begin to offer readers the option to become paid subscribers to Summer Sundays. 

If you already subscribe, thank you so very much for encouraging me and helping me build the confidence to continue writing. If you are able to become a paid subscriber, I would be deeply grateful for your support.

If you are unable to or simply don’t wish to become a paid subscriber, you can share Summer Sundays with a friend or two that you think would enjoy it!

Very soon, you’ll receive book readings and recommendations, exclusive interviews with authors, and my bi-monthly love letters that I hope inspire joy and meaning. You’ll also get to read snippets of my bigger writing project that is in progress. More on that to come!

As we move into the new year, I ask, is there something that you have felt a tug towards but haven’t answered? Be it big, or be it small. Does now feel like the right time for you? Do you want to leap forward with me? I want to hear from you. 

As always, thank you so much for reading. For allowing me to share my experiences with you in these letters. For giving me a reason to write.

I hope that every joy and possibility meets you in the new year.

Here’s to leaping forward together.

Love,

Summer