08/09/2024
I remember the launch of my first book in 2018. There was another launch the next day, two book signings, and five more presentations at women’s events. In total, around 3000 people were invited to my book events in just a couple of weeks because I had no idea how to gather such a crowd in one place at one time.
Now, here’s my first intimate book reading event in the U.S., which took place last month.
A small presentation where I talk about the book, sign it for the first two people who managed to order it from Amazon. I answer questions from those who haven’t bought or read it yet but came because their friend — Mrs. Aralyn Hughes — invited them. She hosts a “tea with the author” at her home every month.
And here I am. The author of my first English novel, which in my mind is a monumental achievement deserving at least a TED Talk stage, presenting it to ten people I don’t know. And they know nothing about me.
So I have to explain who I am. What I did before the war. Who I was. What I achieved and why people subscribed to me. That The New York Times wrote about me because I was worth it. I did valuable projects. That I was something like a celebrity, with 3000 people attending the launch of my previous book, and a line for autographs like at a rock concert... and now...
Now I’m presenting this book to you. Ten strangers who don’t know who I am.
Because I don’t know who I am anymore.
It’s a strange journey — to be someone and then be no one. To know your worth and then find yourself worth nothing again. To have walked the path to Olympus only to start over.
But the first time you walk this path with curiosity and excitement, eager to conquer new horizons. And now — someone has just erased the level of the game you already completed.
And you have to start from the beginning. Not fun. You’ve been through that dark forest, jumped from rock to rock, smashed boulders, collected coins and hearts... and now — it’s just frustration.
Because it wasn’t me who failed that level. It wasn’t me who fell into a puddle or failed to defeat an imaginary monster. Someone treacherously just came and unplugged my computer. And everything went dark.
Everything went dark.
So now — I’m starting from zero on the same path, painstakingly gathering audiences. Eagerly searching for friendly faces among strangers. I see friends — in every school mom of my kids — and get disappointed every time because in America, everyone is very friendly, but that doesn’t mean friends. To be friends, you had to be born here, go to high school, be a cheerleader, graduate from Harvard, and join a tennis club.
And those people who were my birthright — my friends, colleagues, kindred spirits — were treacherously taken from my life and unplugged along with that my computer.
I’m often told, you are who you are. With your skills, experience, and achievements. And you must not lose heart, be proud of yourself, and walk with your head held high... But it feels like some mental narcissism — because here I am almost nobody. Nobody with my head held high...
Nobody in the Middle of Nowhere... — That’s the title of my book...
And then — a month passes. In that month, 30 people come to the “tea with the author.” I’m added to the list of Texas authors, the book is included in the Texas Cultural Heritage Registry, I’m invited to speak to an audience of 100 in Austin, and the book’s sales reach 8 countries.
And then I realize that I’m starting from zero, but it’s a new level of the game. A different scale, a broader scope. With bigger goals and, perhaps, a new chapter in the book of my life. A chapter I might call “I Amidst Something,” or “Someone Amidst Somewhere,” or “Who Knows How It Will All Turn Out” 😂. Because the only predictable thing in life is change. And so be it.
If you treat everything as part of some plot twist, you might end up with a great new episode. And from there, a chapter. And from there, a season. And from there, a life.
