Nicole Rivers is her name. She has a voice. She can sing. Like Etta James sing. Like sprinkling fairy dust in a karaoke bar. Her gift is music. She moves people.

Nicole is my young friend, but I often forget our age difference. Not today. Nicole is working her day J-O-B while I wait in her apartment. The 20 years I have on her taunt me.

I want to reach out and save my soul sister from the years that slip by, but who am I?

I’m a 51-year-old writer finally getting my groove back on the page. I’m in it. Even when I’m not playing by all the rules, I’m in the game.

But, oh how I wish I would’ve given into my wonder for words, stirring hearts, and sharing stories decades ago.

Or, maybe I did. All those years I toiled in sales and called it a J-O-B rather than a calling, maybe I was preparing to write. I gathered a life even as I felt I was missing it.

In over two decades as a salesperson, I learned to choose my words wisely and lean into emotions sincerely. I told relevant stories and polished my integrity in a game I thought I didn’t want to play.

Now, in this moment, the truth reveals itself. I was growing into a memoir writer, what I always wanted to be. I needed those years in the sales field. That was my path. I chose it.

Today, I look back and thank my younger self. I didn’t lose those years. They didn’t slip away. I surfed them! There was no wrong.

And, there’s no course correction required for Miss Rivers: single mother, son-loving, day-job-working woman who can sing. Like should be on The Voice sing.

Ok, I still want to whisper: Hurry! Leap! Sing into your life