loving art, science and creative kids

OPUS 4

Small Things, Big Impact

We often think our lives are changed by major events—a graduation, a wedding, the birth of a child, the loss of someone we love. Yet when I look back, it isn't the dramatic milestones that shaped me most. It is the small moments, almost invisible at the time, that quietly redirected my life.

I remember when my one-year-old son finally learned how to navigate the six carpeted steps leading to our living room. Instead of tumbling down headfirst, he discovered that if he turned around and backed down, he could descend safely. It may have been only six stairs, but to him it was a monumental achievement. He climbed up and down them more than two dozen times before we finally pulled him away.

To an adult, mastering six steps hardly seems noteworthy. To my son, those stairs represented freedom. Suddenly, a whole new part of the house belonged to him. For me, it meant keeping a much closer eye on an adventurous toddler. Looking back, I realize those six little steps also taught me something: life's biggest transformations often begin with the smallest victories.

Many of my own turning points began just as quietly. I first became aware of prejudice while planning my eleventh birthday party. My mother told me I could invite every girl in my sixth-grade class except one—I'll call her Janine. She was the only Black girl in our predominantly white suburban classroom. Janine and I were playground friends, and I wanted her to celebrate with us.

My mother explained that Janine's birthday fell on the same day as mine, so she was probably having her own party. Even at eleven, I sensed that wasn't the real reason. I remember feeling confused, disappointed, and deeply uncomfortable. I had imagined a birthday cake with both our names on it. Instead, that simple conversation became one of the clearest memories of my childhood.

It also became one of the most influential. That brief exchange awakened a lifelong sensitivity to racism and bigotry. I worried that Janine might feel rejected. Perhaps she did. We remained playground friends, but she never visited my home.

Years later, while I was in college, I encountered a quotation by Anatole France that quietly changed me once again: "Even a little dog is the center of his own universe." Those few words transformed the way I viewed other people. I began to understand that every person experiences life through a unique collection of memories, joys, disappointments, and struggles. Just as no two fingerprints are identical, no two people interpret the world in exactly the same way. Over time, those countless experiences shape our personalities, our beliefs, and our values. That simple quotation made me slower to judge and more curious to understand.

My life also changed through the gentle influence of the people closest to me. Before the women's movement became part of everyday conversation, many girls grew up expecting to marry, raise children, and build a home. That was my dream as well. I planned to be the best wife and mother I could be, leaving the wider world largely to my husband.

Instead, my husbands gradually expanded my world. They introduced me to science, the arts, and travel. They encouraged my curiosity and supported me as I developed a career of my own. More importantly, they demonstrated the value of embracing the unknown instead of fearing it. None of those lessons arrived with fanfare. They came through countless conversations, shared experiences, and quiet encouragement. Looking back, I can see how those small influences accumulated until I became a stronger, more independent woman.

After two twenty-year marriages to wonderful men ended, I wondered whether I could continue growing on my own. I had learned from them how to live fully, but now I had to prove it to myself.

Traveling alone, driving long distances, striking up conversations with strangers, speaking honestly, and standing up for causes I believed in did not come naturally. Each challenge seemed small by itself, but together they slowly built confidence. Growth, I discovered, isn't usually one giant leap. More often, it is a series of tiny acts of courage.

For the past thirty years, I have shared my life with someone whose interests differ from mine in many ways. Yet he, too, has quietly changed me. His love of the natural world deepened my own appreciation for forests, wildlife, and wild places—an influence that now finds its way into the novels I write.

When I look back over my life, I don't see a handful of dramatic turning points. I see hundreds of seemingly ordinary moments: a toddler mastering six stairs, an uncomfortable conversation with my mother, a quotation in a college classroom, words of encouragement from those I loved, small risks that gradually became larger ones. Individually, none of them seemed life-changing. Together, they became the stepping stones that led me to the person I am today.

Perhaps the same is true for you. Take a few minutes to look back over your own life. What small conversation, chance meeting, book, teacher, disappointment, or act of kindness quietly changed your direction? We often overlook these moments because they seem so ordinary. But when we connect them, we begin to see that our lives are shaped less by life's grand events than by the countless small experiences that, little by little, become who we are.

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Today, the second book in The Rightfully Mine Series, Antheia in the Thorns, is a Manhattan Gold  Award winner. It follows The Water Factor, an International Firefly Award winner. My thanks to the people who shaped my life and made me stronger.

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