Maria S. Cuasay

In the winter of 2009, my mother stared out our apartment window and said softly, "Is this all there is?" It was a rare moment of lucidity. On the 28th of December 2010, she passed away free at last of Alzheimers´ unbreakable grip. She was 78 years old.

My younger brother John grinned at me as I picked him up from the hospital this past Labor Day. He had been at death´s door for the past two weeks. By sheer will, he was alive and optimistic. He kept repeating, "I´m going to make things better with my kids and my family. I´m going to make changes." At 4:03 AM on October 19, doctors removed his ventilator. He died from a fatal lung disease that affects 2 people out of a million. My brother was only 43.

I grieved for my mother. I grieved for my brother. I grieved for myself. I thought about missed chances and dreams unrealized.

A week after my brother´s funeral service, I was at a park. It was time to seek out life and the living. From the bleacher seats, I watched kids playing soccer and squirrels scampering across the grass. I took some selfies to mark the occasion. It was the start of my Life 360 project. It called for reflection and a life changing decision.

I was eight when my father and I joined my mother in Chicago in 1976. My parents were 44 years old. That year I watched them take two or three jobs each to save money. We bought a suburban house and John joined us in 1978. My two youngest siblings and grandparents followed. While my parents worked, I was quasi-parent, shopper, translator, sitter and peacekeeper.

When my parents became too sick to work, I took a night shift job as a computer operator. Technology had never been a career goal but I had an affinity for it. It was an exhilarating experience for a high school senior to be earning $15 per hour. Instead of college, I focused on work. I advanced through persistence, self education and generous colleagues who shared their knowledge with me.

Writing was present in all my jobs but I didn´t think of it as a skill in itself. What I knew about marketing and sales was the minimum necessary to do my job. IT was my world and that was just fine with me.

Fast forward to 2005. I was a successful consultant living in Florida. I was divorced and childless. I liked my life as it was. I had a close circle of friends and was financially secure. I was living the American dream. Then my father called from Chicago with news. My mother had been diagnosed with Alzheimer´s disease. I made the instant decision to return to Chicago and become a caregiver.

Caregiving had one upside. I found a real passion for writing. Stories bubbled inside me at all hours. I typed and edited on my laptop. I dared myself to post a story online. One story spawned twins and those had triplets. Creative writing was a welcome escape from the realities of caregiving for elderly parents. I realize now that it was writing that had kept me sane.

After my mother´s death, I continued to do small technology consulting projects. I found new interests in serial fiction, podcasts and old time radio dramas. I was somewhat content guiding a rowboat in circles on Lake Limbo.

That was the case until I lost my brother. I saw Lake Limbo for what it was - a slow death by comfortable, self-inflicted stagnation.

As I sat in the bleachers, notebook on my lap, I scribbled answers to the question "Is there anything more for me?" Most of my answers were related to writing. Technology held little appeal. I was unwilling to learn a new programming language or the latest design methods. The end of my caregiving days was a matter of when not if.

I recalled conversations I had with John. The phrases "Do something for you" and "Don´t waste a second chance" kept replaying in my mind. I had made a 360 degree change in my life when I decided against college. Moving out of state was another change. Returning to Chicago was a third change. Was there a fourth change left in me?

My answer was a resounding affirmative. I wrote "Day 1" above a list of things that I needed to accomplish or acquire in order to shake my rowboat out of the doldrums and back into the moving currents. I had three items - become a professional freelance writer in 2016, a move to a warmer climate and more adventure traveling. The last two had to wait. The first was within reach. How much did I want it?

Real lasting change requires commitment and focus. I had to be a writer not simply dream about being one. I had to live and breathe writing. I had to make each day be a step forward away from Lake Limbo.

I stopped accepting technology projects. I told my family of the new direction I was taking. I finished revisions of an original novel. It took a year to write but I have learned an enormous amount. My next draft will be better. Just before my brother took ill, I had became a trainee editor of BellaOnline. Now no longer a trainee, I’ve decided to treat my editor position like a job instead of a hobby.

I´ve finished courses in digital marketing and social media. I have yet to fall in a love with Facebook but am cautiously flirting with Twitter and Pinterest. I’m doing a diploma course in copywriting to fill in the skill gaps I know I have. Lastly, I’ve put my shingle up on the Web. I’m open for business as a writer.

The waters are choppy and the oars are heavy as I steer my rowboat straight. I’ve got my eye on the far shore of Lake Limbo. Once there I’ll start walking until I find an ocean of new possibilities.

Where will I be 365 days from now? I´ll still be in Chicago typing away. Framed and hanging on my wall will be a copywriting diploma, a copy of the first check I earned as a writer and my first client testimonial. Next to the testimonial is a colorful canvas print. I will be 49 years old.

Today is Day 16 of Life 360. It´s been a productive day. I have a vivid canvas print in hand - a vintage travel poster for the Cote d´Azur. Tomorrow I´ll buy a frame for it and hang it up.

I´ve added a ship in a bottle to my shopping list. A rowboat paperweight won´t do. I want a schooner or brigantine with billowing sails.

It´s open seas ahead. I´ll be ready when the wind picks up.