One Door Closes…and a Pizza Oven Opens

I was sitting in the doctor’s office with my teenage son and my husband, embarking on an exciting new challenge. A food challenge. My son was about to eat pizza for the first time in his life.

I was so excited for him that I refused to let the news from the previous day sadden me: that the elementary school where I had been employed for seven years had been slated for closure. Despite passionate protests from the community, the board of education voted to close the school. I was saddened that the doors to the charming little school I had called home for the past few years were closing.

But today, I focused only on pizza and what pizza would mean for our family.

Pizza meant easier Friday nights. Pizza meant there were options when going to someone’s house for dinner. Pizza meant birthday parties without bringing a separate meal.  

Pizza meant freedom.

My son had been allergic to milk since birth. Since May he had been undergoing a desensitization process. And it was working. His body was learning to tolerate small amounts of milk. And it had indeed learned to tolerate pizza. He had no reaction whatsoever.

We waited in the doctor’s office for hours, feeding him pizza, and waiting for a reaction. I was unsuccessful, as always, at ignoring my phone when it chimed.

I read the email a few times. First, I thought I read it wrong. Then, I was sure I read it wrong. I handed it to my husband who confirmed that it said FIERY SEAS PUBLISHING wanted to publish my book.

Still, I was so excited about the pizza, the email barely sank in.

There have been so many days that I was sure I would be published sometime and there have surely been days I was sure it would never happen. And then there were the best days: the days I didn’t even care. As long as I was writing, creating, it didn’t matter if anyone else read it or liked it.

But someone did read it and they did like it.

That email didn’t mean I could quit my job. It didn’t mean I was going to be rich. It didn’t mean I was going to be famous.

But it meant I was going to be published.

And being published is almost as awesome as pizza.

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