The Beginning: Freelance

"So, wait. You're not employed? How do you work, then?"

She beamed, "I'm freelance and set things up on my own."

"That's hard. I don't think I can afford an office!"

"Darling, all you need to survive is a computer, internet and a telefax", Myra said lightly.

"I don't know. I don't think I can ever do what you do."

Myra's eyes widened at my pessimism then burst out in laughter that sounded like a crescendo of chugging machinery and sweet song as she emphatically said, "Go for it, girl!"

Back in 2000, I was only 23 when I met this embodiment of cheer known as Myra Lopez at a modeling agency we worked for. When I left, that was when she asked me out to coffee. She was the first freelance professional I've encountered and had no clue that such a thing existed. She was a writer (and back then I didn't believe writing was a "real" job) and worked on various media projects. She was several years my senior and I respected her accordingly and was in awe of the energy she brought with her wherever she went.

My concept of freelance back then was tied to starving artists like Vincent Van Gogh who went mad.

Myra eventually left for... San Francisco but we kept in touch through email as I sailed through one institution to the next, with her writing me to visit should I happen to be in the neighborhood. Over the years, I stuck it out at being employed but eventually found my niche in teaching. Still, through time, I kept tabs as I hit each milestone of my life as I responded to her brief one-liner emails "Do you already have a boyfriend?" signaling that she was busy.

Last year, I realized that I subconsciously heeded her advice all along as I carved a name in the industry one stroke at a time. When I officially left cubesville to follow a more creative life, I sent her photos of my work sometime in 2005 to which she responded with lots of exclamation points, "I'm so happy you're finally following your dreams!!!"

After not hearing from her since the time I received a Christmas post card from her at around 2006, I decided to dig up her last email and write her again early last year, to thank her for being that one mover in my life. Also, I thought that in the era of Facebook, she should be somewhere there.

What turned up on-line was the worst thing after searching for someone dear to you: an obituary.

*****

I now find myself juggling teaching schedules with media-related writing and editing PR content, as well as conceiving creative concepts for design and scripts. Looking back, all this began when I met a friend long ago whose media career unknowingly inspired mine.

May the winds carry this borderless message of deep-felt gratitude to the heavens above, to thank Myra for telling me to use my wings and fly.