When I graduated college and sold my first story to Seventeen magazine, I thought I was on my way to becoming a famous writer. It was all happening as I assumed it would.
I was invited to speak about my article, "The StepPeople," on a morning talk show – just like I’d assumed I’d be.
For the next few years, I wrote and published more stories just like I assumed I would.
When the third novel I wrote was good enough to shop, I attended conferences, queried agents, and got a book agent, just like I assumed I would.
When my agent shopped my first novel, Fingerprints, it got 26 rejections.
That was not what I assumed would happen.
At the same time, I lost my job in the 2008 crash, and eventually, I lost my house.
I never assumed either of those things would happen. I always assumed I’d work, make money, buy a house, and live in it forever like I’d seen everyone around me do all my life.
Losing my job and home was painful, scary, and confusing. And though I didn’t know it then, my energy had shifted from an energy of confidence, attraction, and abundance to an energy of fear, lack, and scarcity.
I didn’t know it then, but we attract what we are.
Think of the worst person you ever dated. What was your life like when you met them? How were you feeling about yourself? I know that when I met the worst person I ever dated, I didn’t feel good about myself. My life was a mess, so I attracted a mess.
My life was a mess when Fingerprints was shopped to publishers. I was broke, unable to find a new job, terrified of losing everything, unsure where to live, and desperate to sell the book. This is not to blame myself – it was completely normal to feel all the feelings in that moment – but it does make me wonder. Would the book have sold if I’d kept my job and home? If I’d been vibrating in a state of wellness, what might I have attracted?
In my memoir, Pre-existing Conditions, I wrote about my disappointment and anger around my novel, Fingerprints, not selling.
One of the women in my writing group asked, “Why did you assume it would sell?”
“Why wouldn’t it? It’s an excellent book.”
“Yes, but only a tiny percentage of books that are written are actually published,” she said.
“True, but that book deserved to be published. I deserved to be published,” I responded.
I’m currently querying agents and publishers with my memoir about healing Chronic Lyme Disease in a country with for-profit healthcare along with another beautiful novel called All the Moments in Between about an LA set decorator who, after losing her fiancé and baby, is left alone to remodel the dilapidated Craftsman bungalow she and her fiancé always dreamed of, and while slowly working through loss and love, renovates herself.
I just realized I need to get back to assuming the best.
By assuming that I’d become a writer, I became a writer.
By assuming I’d get published, I got published.
By assuming I’d get a literary agent, I got a literary agent.
By assuming I’d buy a house, I got to live in a beautiful house I loved for five years.
Assuming things won’t work out, that the books won’t get published, will create a frequency that will only bring the worst.
I’m not interested in attracting the worst. I’ve done that before.
I’m interested in attracting the best, so I’ll assume it’s coming.
How do you feel about assuming the best?
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