Pivot Points

...in life and Friends.

I think we can all look back on our lives and identify moments when we did an about-face, moments when we (finally) looked up and said, “Nope! This direction is no longer for me.” Some of my own pivot points were not healthy, like the day I drove off the interstate, through a barbed wire fence, and into the sand dunes. I didn’t want to die, necessarily. I just didn’t want to keep living.

That was a long time ago, and I have learned how to keep my brain chemistry more stable than I knew to do when I was nineteen! A post for another day.

Most of my pivots have been healthy, like the day I told my first husband, “I am done.” Or the day I recognized that I no longer wished to pursue a publishing contract with corporate America, pivoting back around to the university press that gave me my start as an author. Or the day my guy and I stood on the rim of a canyon on April 30, in a snow flurry, holding hands across the butt of a white gelding named Roscoe, and vowed to be together as long as it was good for both of us. We vowed to care for each other, which is way more important that love and lust.

Or the day I gave in to

barbara newman

‘s encouragement to join the community over here at Substack. Or the day when I was waiting for my first book to make it through peer review and my guy waved his hand at the loaded bookshelves and said, “I read to be entertained!” which led me to write my first novel, a departure from creative nonfiction, my comfort zone.

But last week I made another healthy pivot.

It all started this past summer, during a horrible drought. It was monsoon season with no monsoon. None. The land was dry. The heat was intense. People think all of Arizona is the valley, Phoenix, saguaro cactus, haboobs. But elevation is everything. Up here in our mountains, 90 degrees is hot. But we had one 100+ degree day after another, for weeks. The ponds, called dirt tanks here on the ranch, dried up. The land suffered. The animals, both wild and domestic suffered. The hot winds blew and the dirt turned to powdery dust and coated everything, indoors and out. In despair and depression, I sat in my office wearing as few clothes as possible, fans blowing, iced water in a Mason jar. I got online and applied for as many writers’ residencies as possible. For days. It was therapy. It was an escape from one hot shining day after another.

Last Wednesday started with an email saying I had been awarded a residency at my dream destination. And I didn’t believe it. My first thought was that the email was phishing. They just want my money. My second thought was, “Yeah, right. I can’t afford that. I wish.” As I detailed in this post, I sat by the woodstove and played Mahjong and felt sorry for myself.

My daughter says I am the only person she knows who sulks by the fire when she gets good news.

But pivots come when pivots are supposed to come. I have been telling the universe how much I love travel and how much I wanted to go to Europe solo. And the universe believed me. I just wish I could have laughed like this:

But still, I made the about-face and came to some conclusions.

Of course I am going to France in 2026 to be Writer-in-Residence at Chateau d’Orquevaux. Of course I am. I know how to work, know how save money, know how to travel solo, know how to carpe diem.

https://www.chateauorquevaux.com/

And I know how to ask for help. I have already asked my daughter and girlfriends for travel, lodging, and fashion advice. I have already confided in my close circle of writer friends that I am taking the leap, pulling out the new (weird) novel I have been talking at and writing at for several years, asking them to hold my feet to the fire for the next nine months so that it is truly in shape for me to work on for two weeks… or three, if I can extend my time in Europe, something my daughter (enabler) ensures me it would be irresponsible not to do.

And now, I have decided to ask Substack for help. My goal is to write one post every month about my preparations and plans for January 2026. And then, once that airplane lifts off, to keep a diary of my journey here in this place. So if you would enjoy going with me to Paris, then to Orquevaux (in the Champagne-Ardenne region), then possibly to London on the high-speed train before flying home, if you want to come with me to Europe, subscribe here and I promise to take you along with as much detail as possible! And pictures! And even video!

My pivot is this: I deserve all good things! I will no longer sell myself short. I will embrace what comes my way without fear or hesitation. This is my one wild and precious life.

Liftoff.

Also, if you have travel hacks and advice or lodging and dining suggestions for Paris, please comment below! From my grateful heart. Amy