In just a few days, I head back to the classroom. Teaching journalism again. The last year, I was deep into the Sr. Communications Specialist role running like a well-oiled story machine. It was a good thing to step off the elevator that carried me from one interview to another and see my work wheels come to a halt for a bit.
During my time off, I rested much and reflected much more—mainly on my life and its hectic pace. If I’m being honest, it was fast and furious. Much was not by choice but nonetheless, it’s a good thing that’s now in the past.
I know I’m lucky to change gears at this time of my life, and to give myself a break to take longer walks, swim in the ocean, and hang out with my family more before the work wheels start turning again.
I think back to when I was a young journalist, afraid to make a jump for fear there would be another writer waiting in the wings ready to take my place.
I couldn’t imagine someone else writing “this” or “that” story, and while it seems crazy I could ever think like that, I’m glad I often had the courage to take risks and jump.
Jumping is not quitting, it’s simply changing the setting, I’ve learned. It’s about finding a new space where your mind can create, dream, and imagine again. I’ve also learned that staying somewhere out of fear is never an empowering move.
As for my writing, I’m looking forward to writing more for the local publications like West Palm Beach Magazine. I'll be putting the words 'The End' on various pieces, including "Brush of Evil," a supernatural thriller novel, and a TV script entitled "90 Millas is Nothing," which I wrote a decade ago and now I’m adapting to the stage.
I’ll be taking stock of whether there are other things in my life that need care, like my relationship with God and others. I feel a strong tug in my heart toward good people, mainly widows who want to tell their stories and need my support on how to publish them. And others who just need a hand or a listening ear. I’m trying to stay quiet more so I can listen and hear what they’re asking for.
The Maritza of my youth used to be very outspoken. If someone said something outright unfair or untrue, I didn’t hold back my tongue; I coughed up countless cutting words that burned.
I’m still outspoken; I won’t deny that. But over the years, I’ve used my internal power to pause and think first, to test the waters before jumping in head first. In this, I have found it is best to resist engaging in toxic and complicated issues. Talking is better than fighting. Negotiating is better than gun-firing. Mastering this, I’ve observed, requires self-control, as the tongue is an unruly evil.
Today, I’m trying to re-imagine my brand. As a storyteller, I love to create stories about people, helping them feel seen and heard. We are all lights in this noisy, sometimes dark world. And my purpose in life is to tell those stories, big and small.
I have big aspirations for my next teaching gig. To me, this is more than just a job. It’s a chance to once again pass on my passion of the written word to the next generation of journalists. I’m making this commitment to stay on course and help lead the way.
I feel like my mission as a journalist these days is to report well and often, and to be a good model so that others will learn the craft and do it, not like me, but in their own way and with their own voice and style—always staying close to the story and even closer to the facts, not to the noise in the streets.
As a writer and writing teacher, all that I’m striving to do is bigger than myself. And everything I do to create, dream, and imagine keeps me grounded, believing in the talent and call I have been given for such a time as this.
With love,
Maritza