“The Day Oprah didn’t save my life,”
would’ve also worked as a title of this post. Both of those titles would’ve been telling the truth.
Here is why.
It was almost as I had dreamt it.
In the dream, or rather a nightmare, the Oprah Crew showed up unannounced at the back door of our Upper West Side apartment just as I was putting out the garbage in my worn out checkered red and black flannel pajamas.
Four days later, the camera man, the soundman and a—blond, thirty-something, I’ve-got-it-under-control—walked through the front door as my husband, my children and I waited wide eyed for the day to unfold.
This was going to be IT.
The kitchen was as scrubbed as it could be, but just in case, our standby location for the “ juicing scene” had been prepped in my neighbor’s curtain-ed breakfast nook.
Four years after self publishing the story of my inconceivable conception, an Oprah producer saw one of my clients on Good Morning America, read and liked the book, and pitched my story for the Remembering Your Spirit segment of the Oprah Winfrey Show.
Several rounds of screening interviews followed.
I was declared to be the “real deal.”
My husband Ed and I started researching companies that would take care of fulfillment for the avalanche of sales that were bound to pour in after the show. Wouldn’t it be great, we fantasized, if Ed could quit his day job and instead of an investment bank, he could use his talents building the Fertile Heart community.
There was just one small crimp in the grand plan.
There were no books in the stores. The timing of what was to be our big break was just a a wee bit off. The publisher who bought the rights to the Trade Paperback of Inconceivable was not prepared to speed up production to catch up with our luck
To be fair, we did have a spike in sales. Our Amazon ratings for a few days after the show aired went through the roof.
But it was nowhere near the “big break” we imagined.
And then again, maybe it was.
Maybe the timing was perfect.
Maybe it all happened in line with a plan far more grand than Ed and I could orchestrate.
After decades of trying to cure my obsession for searching for saviours, something about that Oprah show had a decidedly curative effect.
It was a timely lesson I may need to keep re-learning for the rest of my life.
Nope, it was not a lesson I wanted to learn.
In some crusty corner of my heart, there may always be a forgotten child, yearning for a rescue team. Someone to speak up for her. A defender, an advocate. Someone to validate her right to be alive, to take up space on this most amazing earth.
The rest of me knows I’ve been saved a long time ago; I am, in fact, exactly where I need to be.
The rest of me knows that being saved is an inside job.
Years later, my work is probably very different than it would’ve been, had we sold a million copies of Inconceivable.
Would my work be better or worse?
Who’s to say?
All I know is that the truth I choose to live, is that the Fertile Heart OVUM birthing practice, needed a longer gestation, in order to grow into the—beautiful, fully formed creation, with its very own name, language, philosophy, its own special tools—which it is today.
So, you see, Oprah and the publisher who chose not to speed up production of Inconceivable did save the life I live today.
They saved my life after all.
Any life-saving events in your neck of the woods?
Or another question I suggested on the last call: how are you saving your life today?