Think Inside The Box by *BKLH362 Digital Art / Photomanipulation / Conceptual, ©2011-2012

She imagined her life as a box
With her on the inside
And the rest of everything on the outside.

The box was pretty
She had created nice things for herself
Inside the box

It was comfortable
And safe
And creative
And warm

Yet, outside the box,
She could hear sounds
They called to her, made her curious

She wondered if she could crawl up and out of her box
But she knew it was safer to stay
So she stayed.

Yet… every day
She heard the sounds
Smelled the wonder
Imagined the possibilities

She crawled up
On top of one of her familiar things
And tried to see over the top of the box
But it was too far away.
So she quit.

Later, she tried again
She piled some familiar things
One on top of another
And climbed to the top
But still, she couldn’t see.

So she quit again.

“I’ll stay here where it’s safe,” she said.
She moved around her box
Among all the familiar things
Admiring one… rearranging another.
These are my things, she said
And I love them.

But there’s more came the whisper.
Out there… there’s more.

She ran at the wall
Climbing and clawing her way to the top
But she fell down, over and over
And it hurt.

Each time she fell
It left her bruised, embarrassed
And scared.

But the sounds of opportunity
And the smells of wonder
Wafted into her box once more

So she ran at the wall again
Faster, harder
She clawed and climbed
Refusing to let go

But she fell again.

So, she got back up
And tried harder.
But she fell, and she fell, and she fell

And that little part of her
That thought she could do it
Began to die and fade away.

Perhaps I can’t do it after all, she said.

So she sat down among all her familiar things
And tried to admire them
Tried to love them
But they were dull now.

I can’t do it, she said.
So I guess this is it.
Just me, and my box,
And all my familiar things.

And then, she heard it
Something from outside
Over the wall
She heard a whisper

“You can do it,” the voice said

Then one voice became two
And two became three
And they grew louder, stronger
You can do it, they said.
Just try.

So, she ran at the wall
And leaped
With all her might
She fell, and she tried again

You can do it, they said

She clawed and climbed
Slid and fell.
Over and over
Until she was exhausted

I can’t do it, she said.

But you can, said the voices.
Just open the door.

And there it was
In a place she’d never seen before.
So she turned the knob and walked out
Into the embrace of
Wonder and possibilities

You could always do it they told her.
You just couldn’t do it alone.

(Copyright Joy Baker, 2011)

More soon…

Can’t wait? Click here.

You see, it was at that time… God gave me a puppy.

Zoe, 9 weeks

It went something like this.

Jordan (my 16 year old) and Cole (my 14 year old) asked if they could go watch the girls’ volleyball game in Albany that night. Jordan had just gotten his driver’s license about nine months earlier and I was a little nervous (OK, downright terrified) to put all my eggs in one rusty pickup truck and send them rollin’ on down the highway. But, knowing that Jordan was a good driver, I sucked it up and said sure.

So, off they went.

Several hours later, while I was washing my face and getting ready for bed, I heard the garage door opening and said a quick little prayer of thanks for delivering my boys home safely. A few moments later, Jordan walked in with a sheepish grin on his face. He said he and Cole had a surprise for me. I grabbed a towel to dry my face and sarcastically (cynically?) replied, “It better not be a puppy.” The grin froze in place, replaced by a momentary look of… panic? But, Ross and I followed him anyway. And there, in the garage, just as I had feared, was son #2 holding a purple leash with a tiny black puppy attached to the end of it.

“It’s a hunting dog,” they quickly explained. “We bought her with our own money.” This was followed by a lengthy string of positive affirmations. She’s a Black Lab! A purebred! The runt of the litter so they’d gotten a good deal! She had papers! And a lineage that included a national field trial champion! They promised to feed her, train her, clean up after her. (Dress her up warmly, and send her to school. Teach her how to fight to be nobody’s fool.) And, oh yeah, they’d named her Zoe.

I stared at those two beautiful children of mine… the ones I’d given life to, fed, nurtured, and loved… and in that moment, all I could think about was how much I wanted to tear them limb-from-limb. But I didn’t. Instead, I bent down and picked up that tiny, scared little puppy and suddenly realized I was a grandmother.

And then I went to bed and cried.

I cried for Riley, our 15 year old Golden Retriever who would surely feel like he was being replaced. I cried for the new carpet I would never see anytime soon, the dog hair I would never be done vacuuming, and the loss of freedom I enjoyed whenever I left the house on a whim. But mostly, I think I cried because I was entering a brave new world where my own babies were suddenly capable of making their own decisions, driving on freeways, and accessing their own bank accounts.

Damn it all to hell.

Sometime during the middle of the night, I heard the puppy whimpering in the bedroom next to ours, and it was all I could do not to get up and let her out myself. What if Cole doesn’t hear her in time? Will she pee in her kennel? And then what? Will she just have to lie in her own stinky mess all night long? I waited. And soon enough, I heard the kennel door rattle and then my own little boy in his little boy voice say, “You gotta go potty, Zoe?” And in that moment, I was very proud.

And then they left for school.

What about me, I screamed? Hey God, what about me? When can we talk about me?

And then God answered, “Man am I hungry! When do we eat? Is it time to eat yet? Right now? Come on! Let’s eat!”

I took a deep breath, fed that little puppy and thought to myself, I don’t have time for this. I need to form a plan. Write a resume. Update my LinkedIn profile. Get a job. Make a living. Write a screenplay. Join a book club.

And then God peed on my carpet.

So, I got down on my hands and knees with a wet rag and a bottle of Resolve (aptly named) and said to myself, “Damn those kids. They have no idea how much work it is to raise a puppy. Seriously, what were they thinking?? Of course, they were thinking since Mom isn’t working anyway, she can just stay home and watch the puppy.”

But then God stared at me with those big, curious brown eyes and said, “What is that? That soft, floppy thing. Is it a toy? I love it! I must have it! Let me have it!”

Exhausted, I crashed on the couch with another cup of coffee and told myself, I’m too old for this. I’ve already been here. Done this. It’s my time now. I have plans, big plans, and they don’t include staying home all day and watching a puppy. I am woman. Hear me roar.

And then God jumped into my lap, spilled my coffee, licked my face, exhaled some stinky puppy breath, cuddled up into a ball, and fell asleep.

So, there I sat. Stuck. Still. Frustrated. Exhausted. Spent.

And 100% head-over-heels in love.

Later that afternoon, someone who sounded a lot like my husband, walked in the front door and yelled “Where’s my puppy? Well, there’s my good girl! Were you a good puppy today? Oh yes, you’re such a good puppy, aren’t you Zoe? You’re my good puppy, aren’t you?”

It wasn’t Ross, I realized. It was God.

And later that evening, while we were all sitting in the living room, watching Zoe play on the handmade wool rug that Grandma Martha gave us for a wedding gift (the one Riley was strictly forbidden from ever laying foot on) I looked up at my beautiful family and wondered how long it had been since we’d all sat together in one place, talking, laughing, and enjoying one another’s company.

And in that moment, I realized God had been listening after all.

View the rest of my photos on Flickr…

Kony 2012.

If you don’t know what it is yet, get informed. Watch the video. Share it. Pin it. Tweet it. And watch as the world’s youth work tirelessly to rewrite history on April 20, 2012.

Doubtful? Read this interview that Jason Russell (film creator) gave this morning on the Today Show:

Maker of ‘Kony 2012’ video deflects critics, urges action.

Click image for slideshow...

So, as you can imagine, it’s pretty easy to see why I love this place. But for those of you who have followed me along on my crazy journey, you know about a special little beach house called Villa am Meer that sits quietly and resolutely about a half mile up the beach. MY house… and the impetus for me to quit my career of 20 years and take this great, scary leap of faith.

[For those of you who have no idea what I'm talking about, it's a long and winding tale that all started with my very first blog post. Start here if you want the whole backstory: Villa am Meer, Chapter 1.]

Ross and I took a walk the other day to go check on my house. Nothing much new to report. A fisherman on the pier told us that a caretaker lives on the property, and as far as he knows, there are no plans to develop it anytime soon. It doesn’t look much different than it did last year at this time:

Me and my house, 2012

There is something new to report, though. Last month, I received an amazing gift via email. A relative of the Kohls who lives in Germany found my blog and sent me several old photos of Villa am Meer, taken back in its heyday.

Enjoy the gift. I’m off to soak up some sun.

Click image to view slideshow

I did-it. Did-it. Did-it!

I finished my screenplay.

Granted, it’s just a first draft, but the point is… I finished it. It has a beginning, a middle, and an end.

And, you know what that makes me? A screenwriter.

When I started this crazy quest back in November—this leap into the great unknown—I was completely and utterly terrified. (To be honest, I’m still terrified.) But this online screenwriting class has kept me focused. More importantly, it has kept me writing. It gave me a deadline, a purpose, and a goal. And with a little guidance and encouragement, it also gave me confidence.

I began writing a story I had no idea I could write. Sometimes the words that appeared on the page were as much a surprise to me as anyone. But that’s the fun of writing… the bliss of it. It’s like taking all the crazy tidbits you’ve been carrying around for a lifetime, throwing them onto the floor like a bag of ice you need to break up, and then watching the individual cubes spill out and melt into something that starts to make sense. It’s truly a wonder.

Here’s the other thing about my screenwriting class. It connected me to other people out there who think like me, write like me, and WANT like me. People from all over the world. From my basement office in New London, Minnesota, I watched the Writer’s Guild Awards, live on Ustream. And last week, after the conclusion of the 2012 Spirit Awards, Tony Greco (the founder of Screenwriters Online) even took us on a driving tour of old Hollywood using his iPhone and a mobile hotspot. He took us up the Pacific Coast Highway, past Gladstones restaurant, and up Sunset Boulevard. It was at that very intersection where Thomas Ince, a silent film director and actor, bought a 460 acre ranch in the Santa Monica hills and developed the world’s first motion picture studio. Incidentally, Ince also became the world’s first screenwriter, when he began writing down slug lines for his scenes, like “EXTERIOR – CATTLE RANCH – DAY.” And that’s how screenwriting was born.

Gladstones restaurant in the Pacific Palisades

"Inceville" in the Pacific Palisades

So now that I have a finished screenplay, what next? Well, I did actually ask that question, and the answer Tony gave me was, “You start the next one. And when that one’s finished, you start the next one after that.”

I have to admit, that’s not exactly what I wanted to hear. I was actually thinking more along the lines of, “You get discovered! By an agent, or a manager, or a producer, and they all clamor for your script and offer to pay you hundreds of thousands of dollars for it.”

But apparently, that’s not the case. Who knew.

[Actually, that is the case. Not sure about the hundreds of thousands of dollars part, but everyday, some lucky screenwriter gets a chance to pitch his/her script to an agent/manager/producer who says, "I like it." And that's the beauty of Screenwriters Online. Before they started in 1995 (ironically, within blocks of the original Ince Studio), people like me were shut out from the magic and wonder of Hollywood. But now, when I login to my online class with my laptop and glass of wine, I get to sit alongside others like me and at least imagine the possibilities. It's like playing the lottery, I guess. You can't win if you don't play.]

So, now it’s onto my next big thing (NBT-2). I wonder what that will be?

Thanks for tagging along…

[FOLLOW-UP]
I sent my blog post to Tony Greco, founder of Screenwriters Online, and he sent me the following message:

-=-=-=-=

LOVE LOVE LOVE IT!

I’m going to link it.

BUT one thing.. when you asked me what’s next after completing, I told you to write and write some more. BUT I also said, you can now pitch it in our MasterClass sessions with agents, and especially Managers, production executives, and studio executives who appear here in our online Masterclasses. And we will do more of them.

Also — Here is some more information for you on Inceville and the Pacific Palisades.

Enjoy it– Tony

Here is a link to our village paper, The Palisadian Post (my favorite newspaper because it is truly about the events that happen in our lives here).

You can see more about INCEVILLE at this link:
http://www.palisadespost.com/content/index.cfm?Story_ID=3139

The black and white picture I’m including is the studio grounds, with the stables etc. I drove you up from the coast highway, up Sunset Blvd to the Lake Shrine. The picture is looking down on Sunset Blvd, and in the distance is the sea where the studio sets from Triangle Ranch are. The Indians lived on site.

Ince Studios

“It was here at Inceville, now Sunset at Pacific Coast Highway, where in 1913 alone, Ince made over 150 two-reeler movies, mostly Westerns, thereby anchoring the popularity of the genre for decades. It was at Inceville where many of the filmmaker’s innovations were developed, such as the shooting script, which included stage direction, dialogue and scene description for interiors and exteriors.”

RE: SCREENWRITING: INCE
‘He was really the father of the modern way of writing a script,’ says Marc Wanamaker, founder of the Bison Archive, a research and informational archive on the history of the motion picture industry consultant and author of several books such as ‘MGM, When the Lion Roared,’ ‘Destined for Hollywood,’ and ‘Hollywood’ Then and Now.’

The other color pictures I sent are of today’s Lake Shrine, which is an exquisitely beautiful lake fed by a natural spring from Santa Ynez Canyon (where we are). The Lake is surrounded by hillsides of hanging gardens and meditation paths. The lake is full of Swans and this place is called the “Fellowship of All Religions.” It includes statues and shrines from all the world’s religions, dotted around the constantly-blooming exotic flowers, trees, and hillsides which surround this natural lake. It also houses a portion of Mahatma Gandhi’s ashes in a 4th century sarcophagus.

This place was founded by the great Indian saint Paramahamsa Yogananda, who brought eastern religions to the United States in the 20s/30s. Yogananda called the Pacific Palisades ‘The Mecca of the West.’ See the pictures I sent. What a transformation. Once a stable, now a lake

Elvis Presley loved this place. According to his friend, Jerry Schilling, he walked around the lake and picked up some brochures, then later sent away for information about Eastern philosophy. Elvis developed a 12-year relationship with Sri Daya Mata, the woman who is now the president of the Self-Realization Fellowship, and would often call her for advice when he was troubled.

The memorial service for The Beatles’ George Harrison was held here.

The Lake Shrine

The Pacific Palisades also became the home of some of the greatest artists of the 20th century, including Bertolt Brecht (Three Penny Opera), Thomas Mann, Igor Stravinksky, Arnold Schoenberg, (creator of the Twelve Tone scale and composition), Henry Miller, and Salka Viertel. Greta Garbo’s screenwriter also lived here. (She wrote Anna Karenina, Queen Christina, Two-Faced Woman, The Painted Veil)… and many more. Today it is the home of Steven Spielberg, Tom Hanks, Billy Crystal, Anthony Hopkins, Tom Cruise, etc, and so on…

Note: If we weren’t the first, we were among the first to offer online screenwriting classes and sessions. Our first was February 1996 with the genius screenwriter, Michael Tolkin, of The Player (see it if you haven’t – a must see for anyone writing in Hollywood). He also wrote Deep Impact and Changing Lanes.

Enjoy it all, Joy.

tony

Now, then.

(BTW, did you know that’s the name of a real town near my parents’ house? Nowthen, Minnesota. You just can’t make this stuff up.)

The other thing I’ve been up to for the past several months is playing a detective on the internet. Since I started this blog, I’ve had three people contact me and ask me to help them find their biological birth mothers. Isn’t that the coolest thing ever? I just love-Love-LOVE doing this, and although I have yet to crack my first case, I’ve gotten close enough to know I can do it. And I absolutely can’t wait until I can actually call one of these people and let them know I found their mom. Talk about rewarding work!

So, what qualifies me to do this, you ask? Absolutely nothing. Except… over the years, I’ve become pretty dang good at “people finding.” It started when I was working on my own family tree. From there, I used my detective skills to track down over 600 classmates for my 20 year high school reunion. And while other people (sane people) would consider this a daunting and tedious task, I admit I kind of enjoyed it.

Here’s why. The truth is, deep down, I’ve always wanted to be an Angel. (And really, come on, tell me one little girl who grew up in the 70s who didn’t.)

Here’ a little snippet from a blog post I wrote in 2009, just after Farrah Fawcett died:

I remember watching the pilot episode of Charlie’s Angels with my mom in 1976. I was only 9 years old (and up way past my bed time), but from the moment I saw that show, I was completely hooked. Maybe it’s because I had already been playing detective with my cousin Kristine for about a year or so and was ripe for a new TV role model. You see, Kristine was older and cooler than me, so she always got to be “Pepper” from Police Woman. I had to be “Christie Love.” I had no idea who that was, but Kristine told me she was the only other female detective on TV at the time. So, that’s who I got to be… Christie Love. Nice name for a hooker maybe, but not a serious detective like myself.

So, onto the scene burst these three beautiful TV police detectives who were smart, sporty, and independent. They worked for themselves, had a fancy office, fancy cars, and fancy clothes. My new life plan was set. I wanted to be a detective.

Of course, by fifth grade, reality set in when my Farrah Fawcett haircut went horribly wrong. But I never really outgrew the dream of being an Angel.

During my sabbatical last year, when I was deep in the dreaming stage of my mid-life crisis, I wondered what it would take to actually get licensed as a private investigator. I mean really, how hard could it be? (I know… I’ve inherited this faulty gene from my mother.)

So, I checked into it. First, you have to be free of felony convictions.

Check.

Second, you have to be of good character, honesty, and integrity.

Check, check, check (back me up here, people).

Third, “the applicant must supply a $10,000 Surety Bond at the time of application.”

And there you go… the deal breaker. I’m not even sure what a Surety Bond is, but I’m damn sure I don’t have an extra $10,000 to go buy one.

So, for now, I’ll just keep playing a detective on the internet. And if you have any unsolved mysteries to throw my way, by all means, send them!

The very cool thing I share with country singer/songwriter/superstar Taylor Swift is… drum roll… we both grew up on a Christmas tree farm.

Taylor Swift was raised on an 11-acre Christmas tree farm in Wyomissing, Pennsylvania (near Reading). In 2008, Taylor (then age 18) appeared on the The Tonight Show with Jay Leno and shared this story about her experience:

“Yes! I did [grow up on a Christmas Tree farm], so this is a good season for me. I was too young to help with the hauling of the trees up the hills and putting them onto cars. So, it was my job to pull off the preying mantis pods off of the Christmas trees. The problem with that is if you leave them on there, people bring them into their house. I forgot to check one time and they hatched all over these people’s house. And there were hundreds of thousands of them. And they had little kids, and they couldn’t kill all of them because that’d be a bad Christmas.”

Here’s a photo of Taylor Swift’s family. God bless ‘em, they do look like tree farmers, don’t they?

Younger brother Austin, father Scott, mother Andrea, and Taylor Swift

Here’s a photo of my family. This was taken at Farm Fest last summer when my parents won “Farm Family of the Year” for Anoka County:

Anoka Farm Family of theYear, 2011

My parents, Kathy and Will Almendinger

My twin brother, Dan Almendinger, and me

As I type this, I’m lying in bed staring out the window at a beautiful, peaceful scene… acres and acres of Christmas trees, lining the banks of the Rum River. Here are some photos I took last year, after the big Thanksgiving snowfall:

Isn’t it beautiful? The thing is though, I have a short window of opportunity to enjoy the scenery before throngs of people armed with orange hand saws and shoestring relatives descend on the farm in search of the perfect Christmas tree to adorn their rumpus rooms.

Oh, how I love it.

Er, at least most of it.

The thing is… Christmas tree growers have exactly three weekends per year to earn a living. The season starts on Black Friday and ends (for the most part) the week before Christmas Eve. As you might imagine, it’s very stressful. Last year, when the metro area was hit by two big snowstorms that took place on the first two weekends, it was tough… and not just for my family, but all Minnesota tree farmers.

And, really, snow isn’t even the worst thing to hit a tree farmer. Consider the time a few years ago when a careless smoker tossed his cigarette out the window and started a fire that burned down forty acres of beautiful 6′-8′ Fraser Fir (that had taken ten years to grow, feed, and shape). Or the time two Mother’s Days ago when a late frost killed all the new growth on the trees, setting back their cutting dates by a full year. Or the back-to-back droughts of the mid-2000s that killed nearly every single seedling my family planted for two or three years in a row. Rough.

With all the stress though, I still love it. I’ve never known anything different, so I guess I wouldn’t know what a normal Christmas is for most families. For me, Christmas means a brief and shining respite with family on Thanksgiving Day before all hell breaks loose the next day. It means getting up before the sunrise, pulling on Carharts, Sorrels, and a pair of leather choppers, and arriving at the little red pay shed early enough to start the propane heater (that my uncle Chuck welded together) before the first customer arrives. It means learning how to work a hand saw better than most men, and learning how to calculate sales tax by age eleven. It means snow down your neck, pine needles in your underwear, and my mom’s homemade soup on the stove when we finally arrive home.

Well, looks like the first customers are about to arrive. I’d better get going. Taylor Swift and I have a busy schedule today.

Merry Christmas!

For now though, my NBT (next big thing) is a screenplay I’ve been working on for the past four weeks. Back in October, I signed up for an online screenwriting class at Screenwriters Online. What I didn’t realize at the time is that this class would move at such breakneck speed. What was once a tiny seed of an idea four weeks ago, is now a complete synopsis and an entire first act.

There are over 20 people in the class, which includes screenwriters from all over the U.S. There’s even one person from Hong Kong. The class is taught via text chat, so I’ve never actually seen the instructor or any of the other students. I simply pour myself a glass of wine at the appointed time, login, and “watch the credits roll,” so to speak.

The instructor who teaches this particular class is named Sangram Pradhan. The man is a movie genius. He can back up his lectures with on-the-spot examples from any movie, any time, any place. According to his bio, he is a former Executive with The Film Department and Sony Pictures. He was also a Development Executive on these films:

LAW ABIDING CITIZEN, starring Gerard Butler, Jaime Foxx
SUPERBAD, starring Michael Cera, Jonah Hill
STEP BROTHERS, starring Will Ferrell, John C. Reilly
WALK HARD, starring John C. Reilly
21 JUMP STREET-now shooting with Channing Tatum and Jonah Hill
BAD TEACHER- starring Cameron Diaz, Jason Segel

So, like me, you’re probably asking yourself, what in God’s name is she doing in this class? I have to admit, I felt like a kindergartner among grad students for the first two classes. However, by day three, I had caught my groove, and now I really love it. Unfortunately the class ends on Thursday.

So, by Thursday, I’ll probably be on to the next NBT. But for now… this week… I’m calling myself a screenwriter.

FADE TO BLACK.

Phew. There. I’ve said it.

This has been a painstaking and agonizing decision for me, on so many levels. First, Betsy and I have been friends for over 25 years. We were roommates in college, maids-of-honor in each other’s wedding, and for the past 17 years, have been like second moms for each other’s children. This will never change.

The thing is though, I’ve been going through a “growth phase” for quite a while now. Several years ago, I bought a print by Brian Andreas called Angels of Mercy. Every day, I sit in my office and stare at this little drawing and I wonder, “What if…?”

"Angels of Mercy, by Brian Andreas"

Around the same time I bought that print, I read a book by Po Bronson called What Should I Do With My Life? It talked about people who had good, stable, well-paying careers who threw caution to the wind, quit their jobs, and bravely charted new paths, this time doing something they loved.

I admired those people so much for their honesty and their bravery, but for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out how I could possibly quit my career and start over. For one thing, I was already doing what I loved. I owned my own ad agency. When I was a senior in high school, I gave a speech at my graduation commencement. The principal introduced me by saying, “Joy plans to go the University of Minnesota next spring and pursue a degree in journalism. One day, she hopes to own her own advertising agency.”

And by God, that’s exactly what I did (though it didn’t happen exactly the way I intended). After college, I wanted to be an advertising copywriter with a Minneapolis ad agency. I wanted it more than anything, and I worked relentlessly lining up informational interviews with busy, unpleasant creative directors. Unfortunately, there were no jobs to be found. In the spring of 1991, when things were looking pretty bleak, my friend Betsy called and invited me to Spicer for the summer. She enticed me with some freelance copywriting gigs, and the opportunity to spend my lunch breaks waterskiing on Green Lake. Enough said… I was in.

Betsy and Joy, Green Lake, 1991

By June, Betsy and I realized we were a great creative team. She offered me an opportunity to buy into the company as a full partner, and I took it. For the next 20 years, we would run our business together, squeezing in marriages, babies, and “Life 101″ classes along the way.

At some point though, I realized I wanted more. I wanted to be able to use my gifts of reading and writing to somehow make a difference. But for me, the thought of quitting my job was preposterous and self-indulgent. Who was I to want more when I already had so much?

I made myself miserable trying to figure out how to move on to “the next big thing” while still clinging to my “one sure thing.” When Betsy and I decided to take a creative sabbatical earlier this year, I started dabbling with the idea of doing something different. I had always wondered what it would feel like to wake up each morning and be a WRITER… a real one, who wrote for a living.

It felt good. I wrote and I read; I blogged and I journaled. However, as I wrote, it became more and more apparent to me that this is what I was meant to do. At the same time, that realization was both sad and frightening. After all, everyone knows that writers are poor, sullen, and depressed. Quitting my job and becoming a writer didn’t seem like an upwardly-mobile move for me, or my family.

I was really struggling, trying to cling to my safety net, but knowing I had to make a leap of faith. Then, I remembered something my friend Jane had told me a year earlier. She said, “Leap, and the net will appear.”

Leap, and the net will appear.

So, that’s what I’ve decided to do. I’m leaping into the great unknown… a scary, exhilarating place that offers no promises or guarantees. I have no Plan B at this time, but will leap with faith and courage, and hope that the net appears.

A few months ago, I wrote this song at a time I was really struggling for answers. I dedicate it to all the other women out there who are facing this same battle.

Leap!
By Joy Baker

She sat there
Waiting, wondering
Feeling scared
And all alone.
She was begging for some answers
To this life she’d now outgrown
Is it over? Am I finished?
Is this how the plan will end?
Can you hear me?
Are you listening?
Don’t you know how hard it’s been?

But I AM here, came the answer.
In the wind. And in the trees.
In the smiling laughing, crying
In the falling of the leaves.
In the then, and in the now.
The beginning and the end.
I am here. Always here.
And I’ve just one word to send.

CHORUS
You must leap (leap!)
Leap for all you’ve ever been
You are strongest
After weakness
You are ready to begin.
So just leap (leap!)
I’ll be with you
Always near.
Trust me, know me
Travel with me
Take the leap (leap!)
And the net will appear.

Every new beginning
Is the end of something done.
When you think you’ve lost it all
There’s still a battle to be won
So come with me
Live in peace
Hold my hand
And then we’ll soar
Higher up, to see new places
Where you haven’t gone before.

CHORUS
You must leap (leap!)
Leap for all you’ve ever been
You are strongest
After weakness
You are ready to begin.
So just leap (leap!)
I’ll be with you
Always near.
Trust me, know me
Travel with me
Take the leap (leap!)
And the net will appear.

She stood slowly. Can I do it?
I don’t know. I’m happy here..
Am I really? Is it worth it?
Living every day in fear?
I’ve come through it
Bruised and broken.
I’ve been down
And almost out.
But I’m back
And I can make it.
Take my hand!
He heard her shout.

CHORUS
Let’s go leap (leap!)
Leap for all you’ve ever been
You are strongest
After weakness
You are ready to begin.
So just leap (leap!)
I’ll be with you
Always near.
Trust me, know me
Travel with me
Take the leap (leap!)
And the net will appear.

"She knew the answers would come with time and love."