memoir – Nancy Roldán Johnson

It’s been a while. I thought I’d share an update since you are an important part of my life.

Over the past few years, especially while living abroad, I’ve done a lot of soul-searching to figure out the next steps in my professional life. I finally found a path that aligns with my purpose—writing the story of the ten pivotal years that inspired me to start a nonprofit and co-author La Mariposa. In the spring of 2023, as I was finishing the first draft of my coming-of-age memoir, I hit an unexpected standstill. For months, I stared at the same scene, looped in a mental block, unable to move forward. No matter what I tried, I couldn’t bring myself to skip it and return later. It felt like I was stuck in quicksand, my nose barely above the surface. Every effort to pull free only sank me deeper, the weight of my unfinished story pressing down on me.

Looking back—and I suppose I knew it as I struggled to write—it wasn’t the scene that shook me, but the realization that I was close to taking the next step in revealing my truest recollection of the events I experienced, even though I consulted with those involved and was careful to be fair and respectful and stay within the boundaries of what was appropriate and mine to share.

Alongside this realization, I faced a harsh truth: despite the debate surrounding it, a recent court case involving a major publishing house led to the revealing of an unsettling truth—most authors don’t reach the masses. If they’re lucky, they might sell a few hundred or maybe a thousand books, enjoying only a brief moment of publicity.

Is it worth putting my story out there if it means upsetting or disappointing the people in my life?

I tried to move past this, but I feared judgment. The ¿Que Dirán? imposter, that nagging worry of what others would think, that I worked my entire adult life to manage, especially when my values and integrity aligned with my goals, wouldn’t stop chattering. I could hear the imagined criticisms about my story or my book’s (lack of) success: “That’s not true! I don’t remember things happening that way!” “Aren’t you disappointed your book didn’t do well?”

I’ve often heard memoirists struggle with this issue. Some courageous writers press on, fully aware of the potential consequences but certain that the story’s message outweighs any fallout. Others forge ahead with the belief that those who might be offended should have acted in a way they’d be comfortable seeing in print.

Like me, the more apprehensive writer gets to a certain point in their first draft and then freaks out just as the glowy light at the tunnel’s end nears. They place their pen down, promising to pick it up again after those who may be hurt or offended die.

Is it really worth it?

I have contemplated this question considerably. I journaled, meditated, took long walks with Values and Intentions. I talked to people about my hesitancy, many of whom shared how memoirs impacted their lives and made them feel less alone or a relative’s story filled in the missing gaps and made them feel more connected to their ancestors and heritage.

I decided it is worth continuing.

I picked up the pen and hoped my writing would return as suddenly as it had stopped, but it didn’t. So, I shifted my focus to less paralyzing projects. Then, in late May of 2023, I faced the heartbreaking loss of my father-in-law—a man I deeply loved, whose moral compass always pointed true North. He was an exemplary human unlike any other, and I was honored to have known him. Just two days after his passing, I was asked to step into a temporary leadership role at the nonprofit where I served as a board director. Although I knew this role would pull me further into the quicksand, something, an overwhelming instinct, nudged me to accept.

Those eight months turned out to be some of the most fulfilling of my life. I had the privilege of working with a phenomenal team to advance a mission supporting youth development. Drawing on my experience in budgeting and operations, I helped streamline systems, implement policies, and establish a sustainable foundation for the organization to thrive. The experience rekindled my passion for helping others reach their highest aspirations.

Since then, I’ve trained to become a professional coach, started my own coaching business, and am starting a certification program to deepen my skills.

And, slowly, I’m working on my story. It will take time, but when I think about what I want to leave behind in this world, long after I’m gone, I realize that the words I’ve written will live on.

I’m curious, when you think about your own journey, how have life’s unexpected detours shaped the legacy you hope to leave behind?

Thank you for reading and being part of my journey. xoxo

In the past month, I’ve had more than my fair share of Aha moments. These insights led me to make surprising connections. While coincidences can seem like mysterious, unexplainable events that happen out of the blue, it’s also true that we can manifest them and unveil meaningful connections in the world if we follow our curiosity and tune our focus. Something as simple as a colorful painting, a new artist, or a compelling quote that catches our attention can provide new perspectives and insights that enrich our understanding of the world by looking closer.

C and I dreamed of living in Manhattan soon after we’d retire while still young, mobile, and able to tolerate the city’s energy. Walking to theaters, restaurants, museums, parks, and shops is something we’ve come to love since living in Stockholm and London. The pandemic brought us to New York City sooner than we had planned. In our dream version, our lives and situation seemed generally rosy and steady. Instead, as they often do, life astounds, and rent costs rise to our great shock and eternal misery. So, while we can, we are trying to stop and smell the veritable roses, mindful of our innate hedonistic tendency to quickly move on to the next shiny thing.

This happens every time I visit MOMA: I brush past a painting to see the next, never gaining insight beyond the artist’s name and a few details on the title card, which I forget as soon as I approach the next painting. I grew frustrated and embarrassed by my carelessness as I stood before an image I had visited twice before, unable to recall a single detail about the artist or the piece. C was with me that afternoon, and I suggested we pick a painting we both like and learn as much as possible about the artist and the work, preferring to connect with one piece than scanning many and missing their significance.

Here is “The Moon” and a few things that brought me pleasure and joy this month.

This 1928 painting titled “A Lua” (The Moon) by Tarsila de Aguiar do Amaral— considered the Picasso of her native Brazil, where she is simply known by first name—who wanted to be, in her own words, “the painter of her country,” caught my attention for its simplicity and suggestive similarity to the more famous Van Gogh “Starry Night.” I was delighted to see her story covered in CBS Sunday Morning. Reading about Tarsila, I learned she was good friends with Pablo Picasso, whom she met in Paris. This connection painted a lovely image of two talented artists philosophizing and encouraging each other in their work, a reminder of what can happen if we lift each other.

After randomly selecting Patti Smith’s memoir, “M Train,” from the high pile of recommendations on my night table, I was floored to learn she’s the same Patti Smith considered the godmother of punk rock, who sang (and wrote with Bruce Springsteen) “Because the Night.” She is a gifted performer and arguably a more talented writer.

“I consider myself a writer.” -Patti Smith

Soon after this discovery, serendipity would have Substack notify me about a recent podcast episode of The Active Voice featuring… Patti Smith! about her life of writing, her long friendships, and cancel culture. I loved the interview so much that I went in search of more Patti Smith, immediately regretting having missed her rock a performance in Brooklyn this past December for her 76th birthday.

But it was this moving 2016 performance at the Nobel Prize Award ceremony that made me fall a little more in love with her. If you scan forward to the 1 minute 10-second mark, you will witness a BEAUTIFUL EXCHANGE of vulnerability and grace and how trust can help us do what we think we cannot. Can you hear the impact to her singing? I can’t help but think how a child could benefit from such a response.

Summer was always my preferred season. I favor tropical to bone-chilling, bathing suits to shin-length parkas, and the easy way I stroll through a summer night’s balmy breath. It surprised me when, three years ago in March, at the onset of the pandemic, my perspective of seasons changed. With the world unencumbered by human activity, I witnessed Spring as if for the first time. I was in London, unsure how long we’d be in lockdown when the buds first formed. I thought about the things I’d miss as the days grew warmer and brighter. Spring, I realized, is the precursor to all that blossoms. It leads us into Summer, a canvas upon which we paint our most pleasurable experiences and joyful moments. Fall gives us time to replenish and rest from the flurry of summer activities. Then, not long after, gifts are opened, and a new year begins.

The Enkindled Spring

This spring as it comes bursts up in bonfires green, 

Wild puffing of emerald trees, and flame-filled bushes, 

Thorn-blossom lifting in wreaths of smoke between 

Where the wood fumes up and the watery, flickering rushes.

I am amazed at this spring, this conflagration 

Of green fires lit on the soil of the earth, this blaze 

Of growing, and sparks that puff in wild gyration, 

Faces of people streaming across my gaze.

And I, what fountain of fire am I among 

This leaping combustion of spring? My spirit is tossed

About like a shadow buffeted in the throng

Of flames, a shadow that’s gone astray, and is lost.

–D.H. Lawrence (1885-1930)

“You gain strength, courage and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You are able to say to yourself, ‘I have lived through this horror. I can take the next thing that comes along.’ You must do the thing you think you cannot do.”

― Eleanor Roosevelt, You Learn by Living: Eleven Keys for a More Fulfilling Life

My biggest fear in life was public speaking. I did everything to avoid it, even finding a way to graduate college without taking the required course. Eventually, I needed to stand in front of an audience if I wanted people to know about Together for Latinas and the work we were doing to improve the lives of Latina youth of all gender expressions. This quote gave me the strength to set aside my ego and personal angst and do what I dreaded most.

And I come back to it every time I feel like giving up on my writing. As long as my values and intentions align, I know I can push through any doubt and fear.

What about you? Have you experienced synchronicity? What meaningful connections were revealed to you?

Thank you for taking the time to connect with me here. It brings me both pleasure and joy to be on this planet with you at the same time.

With love,

Nancy

Tag: memoir

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The Magic of Synchronicity & Four Things That Bring Me Pleasure and Joy