The first time I saw my name in print I was 18. I submitted a Letter to the Editor to my college newspaper in response to an article I had read. I was elated to see my name in black ink. I wanted to join the newspaper staff, but I didn’t know how or who to talk to. However, when I saw that my letter got published, that gave me the last bit of courage that I needed. I found out where the newspaper office was, knocked, and when I went in, I told the first person I saw that I was Israel Sanchez, the person who wrote the letter.
From there, it was a pretty easy transition in me getting involved in the college newspaper. I started writing articles and that same year I then became the Opinions Editor. In my second year, I became the Editor in Chief. Of course, along the way I made good friends. I also learned how to deal with other people who coveted the same leadership position as I did (that of Editor in Chief) and how fickle some friendships can be.
We would spend so many evenings working on deadlines and many other times hanging out together. To some degree, it was like a family. Some of them I still keep in touch with to some degree; others I’ve never heard from again. One of those friends became a television anchor in Texas. Another one has worked for the New York Times as an editor and now the Post. I thought I was in that same trajectory. That was my dream for a while.
My writing career after community college took an unexpected detour, just like my academic studies. Life happened. Things out of my control happened. I didn’t get to write for the New York Times like my friend did.
It has taken me a long time to accept that whatever imaginary pressures I’ve put on myself in regards to writing, are just that, imaginary. I’ve always thought that before I reach 40, I would have a flourishing writing career. I’m 39 now. I don’t have a literary agent. I don’t have a publisher. This Substack is not growing at the pace I hoped it would, and yet, I need to remind myself that this is okay. I need to remember that my timeline is different than someone else’s.
I need to remind myself that I write because I love it. I write because I love learning and I love teaching. I write to understand myself and the world around me better.
Of course, I would love to make a living writing because I love it so much, because I believe deep in my core that I was born to do this. Wouldn’t it be great to make a living doing something you love so much? I know, I know. That thought is even a luxury for others who are just trying to literally survive another day. I’m grateful that I’m even in a position to desire a career doing something I love.
At 39, I’m trying to be gentle with myself. I’m reminding myself that my journey is supposed to be different than that of my college friends. I’m reminding myself to just write, to do the work. I’m dusting off old projects and I’m working on new ones, like my memoir and Dining with Cannibals. I’m taking it one day at a time.
Life update
My mom was visiting this past week. She lives in Miami, so you can imagine the culture shock, as well as the striking temperature difference from South Florida to the Midwest. She got to see snow one day, so she naturally went out with her phone and proceeded to FaceTime anyone who would pick up her call. I’m so used to it by now that snow, unless it’s on Christmas Day, doesn’t really excite me. But I remember, being 19 and going to New York City with my college friends and seeing snow for the first time. I was giddy; trying to catch a snowflake with my mouth and having my first snowball fight. I felt like I was living in a postcard. Snow in Times Square. It was unbelievable.
My mom really enjoyed spending time with her grandkids. On her last full day here, we took her on a fun tour of Topeka, even going to the Capitol building and showing her around. She loved it. I think though, that what she loved more were the times at home, whether that was playing a game together as a family, or watching a movie. We all wish she lived closer.
Thanks for reading.
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Venmo: @Israel-Sanchez-148
I think you are very wise. Don’t worry about all the “shoulds” - you are a fine writer, i look forward to your posts and your career will unfold as it should. I did write for The NY Times, for 3 years, until I was laid off from my dream job. I was utterly crushed, but I also knew I had to be a good role model for my kids, then teenagers. So I held my head high, told my kids not to worry about mom, that something would work out, and it did. It will for you, too.
I understand this writer's stress. It amplifies with time. I think Substack is so hard to gain traction, especially now that more and more writers are jumping on board. Your writing has an ease without losing meaning, which is one of the reasons I appreciate your substack.
The story of your mom is so sweet. I hope you put it in your memoir. It's like the reader can now see through both your and your mom's eyes simultaneously.