Leah Vidal's Blog

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This week I spent an afternoon scouring piles of old family photos. I was in search of any of mom and me for an upcoming story for Guideposts Magazine. I had avoided the task for days. Truth be told, I had avoided the task since Mom died. She was our family photographer, a role I found myself in once I started a family of my own. As I sat cross-legged on the floor in my study, scattered photos all around me, I was struck by a few things that have stayed with me all week.

I don’t have a lot of photos of mom and me. There were a ton of photos of me and my siblings or of dad and us. Many of the photos were of family gatherings where our large Cuban family would get together for a special occasion or a random weekend. Lots of moments captured with aunts and uncles, cousins and grandparents. As I studied each photo, I relived childhood snow days. I was transported back to summer vacations on the beach. Random moments on our living room couch stood frozen in time before me. I held a photo, ran my finger along the image. I could practically reach out and touch the seventies wallpaper. I pulled another box of photos out. This one contained photos from more recent years of mom with her grandchildren, my own children. Some even had mom and me holding the kids when they were a lot younger. I was filled with regret for not taking more photos of just the two of us.

Then I realized Mom had given me glimpses of life through her lens with each snapshot that lay before me. My childhood was captured through her eyes from my arrival in this world to my awkward elementary school years. She captured the big moments as well as the little moments. There were photos of me in my Easter dress, my cap and gown, wedding dress. I might not have a lot of photos of mom and me, but I have life through her eyes. With each snapshot, I can picture her behind the camera, smiling and laughing to put us at ease. Some photos clearly show me or my siblings groaning through another pose. We rolled our eyes as mom convinced us to smile for the camera. Looking back, I can now see we got it together and smiled for her, not the camera she held. What a blessing she gave us by documenting our lives in snapshots.

This led me to another thought. Today, we live our lives mostly in digital snapshots. We spend countless hours scrolling from one image to the next as they come up on our feeds. We barely register one image before moving on to the next. It’s almost a mindless activity day in and day out, a reflex when we reach for our phones. Social media is filled with our best photos…only those we are willing to share with the world. What we choose to share is a carefully curated selection of just some of our life moments.

What if someone scrolled through our true moments in time, not what we present to the internet and ultimately the world. What would that look like?

If someone scrolled through our live feed so to speak, what would they see?

Would each of those snapshots be something we are proud of? Would we be ashamed by the behavior that would show up? Would we feel like frauds, having presented only the stuff we’re proud of when behind the scenes we’re truly drowning in poor choices, negative self-talk, and bad hair days?

Just some food for thought. I challenge you to look at your life as though someone was scrolling through your day. Be honest. Do your real time snapshots match the ones you’re posting online?

And, if you’re not one to post photos online try looking at your day through an imaginary lens. If your day was shared in snapshots, would you feel good about the person you were to those around you?

I sat in front of my computer and stared at the blinking cursor. That little black line seemed to mock me on a regular basis as of late. I couldn’t conjure up any words let alone string them together to form sentences. I had never believed writer’s block was a real thing. Stories flowed easily for me. I was at my happiest when I was writing. Ever since my mom died, I had a serious case of writer’s block.

I haven’t always been a writer. Well, I should say not professionally. I have always loved to write. Growing up I went through library books quicker than my school librarian could recommend them. English class was always my favorite and I tackled writing assignments like my math loving friends tackled Algebra equations. I never did get the hype about solving for that mysterious X.

All through high school, I took pride in being enrolled in Honors English classes. The summer before Senior Year of high school my family moved from New Jersey to Florida. Some might say it was a natural migration for my Cuban family, but the move had more to do with some health issues my dad was having at the time. Upon enrolling in school, I was automatically placed in a regular English class. I was desperate to blend in at this new school. It was three times the size of my old high school. I didn’t speak up. After my second writing assignment, the teacher kept me after class. She suggested I might be better off in an Honors English class. However, at this point my parents would have to meet with that teacher to approve the transfer.

My parents scheduled a morning appointment before work and the three of us were led to an empty conference room where we sat and waited for Mr. G. He entered the room in a huff, slammed some papers on the table, and took a seat across the table from us. My dad extended his hand and introduced himself. No response. No eye contact. He just shuffled his papers. I was instantly full of regret for having set this all in motion. My parents went on to explain why they had requested the meeting. Mentioned I had taken Honors English classes all three years at my last school. How I loved English class and wanted to continue in an Honors class.

Mr. G finally looked up at my parents and said, “Clearly English isn’t your first language and while I can see why you would like nothing more than for your daughter to keep that streak going, I don’t think she’s cut out for my class.” My dad took a deep breath and simply said, “Are you saying you will not allow my daughter to take your class? I assure you she most definitely has what it takes.” I was transferred to Mr. G’s class the following day. However, that man made my life a living hell. He never gave me a grade higher than a C on any assignment. I approached him each time and asked for feedback. He never gave any. One day, he finally said, “You’re just not a good writer. There’s no hope for you.”

That day a seed of doubt was planted in me that took me years to overcome. It wasn’t until many years later after a career in Public Relations, married with young kids, and living in Puerto Rico that I truly found my passion for writing again. Once more, my biggest supporter was my mom. She literally signed off all comments and messages as “your number one fan.” She would encourage me to submit my stories to inspirational or spiritual publications. She said my stories resonated with people on an emotional level. She was my mom though. Wasn’t she supposed to say those things? I brushed her off time and time again.

My mom died in 2021. For five months after she passed away, I couldn’t write a single word. That blinking cursor mocked me every time. Perhaps it was the thought of writing something that she wouldn’t read. It hurt too much to think I wouldn’t see a commenter signing off, “your number one fan.” One day, I received an email from a magazine editor. “Hi. I’m with Guideposts Magazine. We would like to publish your story in our August issue. Can we schedule a time to discuss?”

My immediate thought was “this is a scam.” I hadn’t submitted any stories let alone written anything in months. Probably some foreign prince about to ask me to send him a check. I closed the email without responding to it. The next day, I couldn’t get the email out of my head although I still couldn’t recall submitting a story. Maybe I should schedule the call, hear what the editor had to say. What did I have to lose?

“Your story about selling your house at your garage sale is perfect for an upcoming issue. Are you interested in publishing it?”

 I could recall the story vividly, but it had been years since I had written it. I certainly didn’t remember submitting it.

“May I ask how you came across my story?” I didn’t want to let on that I didn’t remember sending it to them.

There was a moment of silence before he replied. “Actually, I just came across it even though you submitted it in 2016.”

2016! My mind was spinning. I could hear mom’s voice, “Submit to a spiritual publication. Your stories resonate with people on a deeper level.” 2016. The one and only time I had submitted a story to Guideposts Magazine.

“Wow. That’s quite the lengthy approval process you have.” I blurted out before I could catch myself. Thankfully, the editor laughed at that.

“I would love to have my story published.”

These days, I’m a regular contributor for Guideposts magazines and have published a 365 Day Devotional, Light Up The Sky. I’m currently working on a historical fiction novel based on my grandmother’s life. Instead of holding me back, that blinking cursor now represents endless possibilities.

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The beginning of anything offers the promise of a clean slate. New year’s resolutions spring forth from the idea of starting anew. A new job, a new friendship, a first date, the first day of school, and the first day back at the gym provide the opportunity to start with a clean slate. Are they really clean slates though?

I believe we can’t fill these “clean slates” unless we consider all we have learned and experienced up to this point. Yes, new beginnings are motivating and fresh, but our new slate will look much like our old slate unless we learn from the past. What worked or didn’t work for us last year? How can we repeat that or eliminate that this year? Was there something that made us leave our old job in search for a new one? Why are we on a first date? Are we searching for something we didn’t have in our last relationship? Did we fall off the exercise wagon because we hated the type of workout we committed to?

Our new slates are an opportunity we wouldn’t have if not for the choices we made to get here, the life-changing ones as well as the many tiny ones that seemed insignificant at the time. From what gym we choose to the time of day we choose to work out. Coke or Diet Coke? Flat or sparkling water? College or Trade School? When we look back what do we see? We climbed mountains and faced storms. We also hid under the covers and ran from conflict. Some days we felt invincible and others we felt hopeless. Every moment of every day, every challenge we took on and every challenge we rejected. Every heartbreak and every moment that filled our heart with joy. All of it shaped us, filled our slate, and brought us to this very day…to this slate sitting before us. And yet, we didn’t get here alone.

Old slate or new, guess who was with you all the way? Don’t forget to fill your next clean slate with God. Imagine what it can look like! Inhale the possibilities and exhale the doubts. You’re exactly where you’re supposed to be today. Paint tomorrow with dreams but don’t throw away that old paintbrush just yet. It’s got some life still in it…yours.

RESERVE YOUR SPOT HERE

Excited for the opportunity to be at the @nbtxchamber Women’s Conference tomorrow! I’ll be signing copies of Light Up The Sky in the Exhibitor Hall. Would love to see you there!

Excited to hear keynote speaker Pam Nemec, brand culture expert and speaker. Her thought leadership around Brand Culture via HR and Brand Communications has led to recruiting, retaining, and caring for over 50,000 employees and connecting with millions of customers over the course of her 30-year career, where she ultimately served as the head of HR, Brand Communications & Culture for Whataburger, a multi-billion-dollar Texas based restaurant brand.

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It’s that time of year when parents are busy checking off items on the Back To School To Do List. Our family is long past the specified school supplies list, but with our oldest starting Law School and our youngest headed off to college there are still plenty of preparations being made. I’ve always loved this time of year with its promise of clean slates and new beginnings. My bookworm brain sees more possibilities in the beginning of a school year than the start of a new year.

My kids haven’t always shared my enthusiasm no matter how many of my own first day of school stories I’ve shared with them or how many ways I’ve spun the New Year – New Adventure philosophy. When it comes to our kids, we often compare our experiences at their age to whatever they are experiencing right now. We often wish they could have similar experiences to our own, but that’s not often the case because the fact is they are not us. They are on their own path. Just because it looks different doesn’t mean it’s not right for them.

It’s not less than. It’s not more than. It’s just theirs. Don’t steal their struggle.

We want to guide them and help them navigate the challenges, avoid the pitfalls and dive into chasing their dreams. Yet, we are not in control. We can provide wisdom. We can nudge them in what we believe is the right direction, but we can’t take the journey for them. It’s like walking a tightrope. There’s a fine line between directing and dictating. Don’t steal their struggle.

At their age, our dreams looked different because they were our dreams. Our opportunities were different because our world was different. We had different goals and different ideas on how to achieve those goals. Our kids have their own goals and their own plan on how to reach them. We have to allow them to make their choices as well as their mistakes. Don’t steal their struggle.

“Wouldn’t it be easier for them if we just provided x, y, and z for them?”

“Couldn’t they just blindly follow when we lead them to the decision we just know in our hearts is right for them?”

“Why can’t they see that we bring to the table an abundance of life lessons that can make their life go smoother?”

It’s hard to step back and allow our babies to choose the road they will travel on. This past year, we had to sit back and watch our youngest weigh the pros and cons for each school that recruited him. At the same time, we had to watch our oldest weigh the benefit of scholarships offered and finances as she decided which Law School to attend. It was a tough process for them and for us, but it’s part of growing up. Don’t steal their struggle.

Each one of us is unique with our own mountains to climb before we can soar the way God intends us to. He has a plan for our kids just like He had a plan for us at their age. We are exactly where we are supposed to be even if we started with different hopes and dreams, even if we’ve taken some detours along the way. We approached life our way. We faced challenges our way. We viewed opportunities our way. Our children will too. If you need proof of this, try shopping for college essentials with your daughter vs. your son.

Daughter: Matching decor to coordinate with her roommate. Comforter to match throw pillows. Desk accessories. Matching shower curtain, bath mat, and sink caddy. Art work for the walls. Etc. Etc. Etc.

Son: I like the blanket I currently use at home. Love my pillow. Just gonna take the towel I have. I might hang a flag on the wall but not sure yet. We’ll see.

I’ll let you guess who has the easier moving day. Don’t steal their struggle.