Before the World Knew My Name

Prologue to The Possibility of Me: A Memoire in Three Movements

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You’ve heard me talk about The Land of Isn’ts before.

But this time, I’m not just naming it—I’m taking you there.

What you’re about to read is the prologue to my upcoming memoir, The Possibility of Me: A Memoire in Three Movements

It’s not a beginning in the traditional sense.

It’s a remembering. A declaration. A portal.

This is the story I wrote before I arrived.

The place I come from—where nothing existed… until I dared to speak it into being.

Welcome to the Land of Isn’ts.

Prologue: The Land of Isn'ts

I was never supposed to be here. Not because of biology or barriers or brokenness—but because I come from something that isn’t. A place that can’t quite be named, only known. I come from something that isn’t—not because it’s nothing, but because it hasn’t been written yet.

A whisper of what could be. A murmur of what hasn’t been—yet.

It’s not exactly a destination. More like a frequency. A wavelength. A whisper before the word. Somewhere between idea and incarnation.

It’s the space you imagine from before you’re born—the one you write from, not to.

It’s where everything lives before it becomes real.

It’s the cousin of the in-between.

Both blurry. Both borderless.

Both unwilling to follow anyone’s rules but your own.

This place shaped me.

A girl born from contradiction.

Named before she had a voice.

Called too much before she even arrived.

I lived my early life like a question mark—trying to make sense of a sentence I didn’t write.

But eventually, I did.

It’s called The Land of Isn’ts.

I learned that possibility isn’t an outcome. It’s a practice.

That you don’t have to see the next step.

You just have to move like it’s already there.

That you can be both terrified and ready.

Both unsure and unstoppable.

A wise woman named Bettie Spruill once said, “A possibility is something that isn’t.”

And that’s exactly what I am.

Something that shouldn’t have been—based on statistics, silence, and shame.

And yet.

Here I am.

And I remembered.

I remembered that I wrote this story before I got here.

That I was with God, with Spirit, with Source—

sitting at the edge of eternity, scripting a life from scratch.

I chose this body.

This name.

These parents.

These people.

This pain.

This power.

I chose it all—before it ever was.

Because that’s what possibility is:

A blank page that hasn’t been drawn on yet.

A crayon hovering in the air, waiting for the first stroke.

A story that doesn’t exist until someone dares to write it.

I’ve always known I was writing my life as I lived it.

Even without words.

Even with trembling hands.

Even when the ink ran dry and I had to bleed onto the page just to make the next sentence.

I’ve always known I was making this up—along the way.

Not like a lie.

Like a prayer.

Like a vision I could see before it arrived.

Like a promise my soul whispered long before my body could understand.

Some call it faith.

But this is deeper than belief.

This is remembrance.

Of what I am.

Of where I come from.

Of who I chose to be.

I live in the Land of Isn’ts.

Where nothing is real until it is.

Where dreams are not separate from destiny.

Where the Universe doesn’t wait for permission—it waits for participation.

And every time I speak something out loud, it gets legs.

Every time I believe in something no one else can see, it starts to form.

That’s the magic.

That’s the risk.

That’s the truth of living a life that didn’t exist until you declared it.

Some say I’m lucky.

That I’m strong.

That I’m “resilient.

”But this isn’t luck.

This is design.

I show up.

And the next step appears.

I say it.

And the world shifts.

I imagine it.

And the path unfolds.

I’ve taught my children this too—

That their tongue is a crayon, and every morning they wake up with a blank page.

That what they speak becomes shape and color and life.

And if they don’t like the picture, they can start again.

Draw something new.

That’s what I’m doing here.

Writing a new picture.

Making the unseen visible.

Living what wasn’t—until it was.

The Possibility of Me isn’t about what is.

It’s about what refused to be erased.

It’s about the lives we live before anyone gives us permission.

It’s about becoming what you’ve never seen.

It’s about building steps with your words and watching the ground rise to meet you.

This book is a portal.

Into the Land of Isn’ts—Where nothing is promised, and everything is still possible.

Into the breath between dreams and being.

Into the possibility of what you could be, if you believed yourself enough to try.

And so here I am

.A possibility.

Made flesh.

This?

This is the story of how I made it real.

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If this resonated with you, you’re not alone.

Maybe you’ve lived your own version of the Land of Isn’ts.

I’d love to hear what stirred in you as you read.

Drop a comment. Send a message. Share it with someone who needs a reminder that they’re not too much, not too late, not lost.

The Possibility of Me: A Memoire in Three Movements is coming soon.

And this is just the beginning.