The call came on a Thursday afternoon, right as I was contemplating the deeply philosophical question of whether to eat lunch or just survive off coffee fumes for a few more hours. At the time, I was still at the Idaho Statesman, hunched over my desk in the noisy newsroom, writing my third story of the day about Boise’s exploding tech scene. My editor had just emailed me to ask for “more pizzazz,” and I was staring at a blinking cursor like it might suddenly tap-dance across my screen if I willed it hard enough. That’s when my phone buzzed.
I didn’t recognize the number, which, let’s be honest, usually prompts an instant “decline.” But this time, something told me to answer it. Maybe it was divine intuition—or maybe it was the fact that procrastination disguised as curiosity seemed much more interesting than adding adjectives to a quote about blockchain technology. Either way, I picked up, and my life hasn’t been the same since.
The Voice on the Other End
“Hi, Leslie. My name’s Sara, and I’m calling from Mountain Ink magazine.”
Now, if you’ve ever been a journalist, freelance writer, or any sort of hopeful creative, you know this is the equivalent of Ryan Gosling casually sidling up next to you at a coffee shop to ask if he can borrow a pen. It felt too surreal to process in the moment. I’d applied six months earlier for a coveted fellowship at Mountain Ink, a national magazine that, at the time, felt as unattainable as buying an actual house in my beloved North End. Hearing Sara’s voice meant that they hadn’t tossed my application into the abyss—and better yet, they wanted to interview me.
Somehow, I channeled my excitement into a strangled but professional-sounding “Yes, I’m available!” But inside, I was in full panic mode. Did Sara call me because she saw my typo in the final paragraph of my writing sample? Was she testing my on-the-spot journalistic instincts? Did I have enough air in my lungs to survive the next thirty seconds?
Like any good journalist, Sara got right to the point: “We loved your piece on Boise’s housing market—particularly the way you tied the changing neighborhood dynamics to your own family history. That personal perspective, plus your ability to balance humor and insight, is exactly what we’re looking for.”
While my brain screamed, “THEY LIKE ME,” my mouth was far less eloquent. “Wow, great, I mean, thank you for saying that,” I babbled, now wondering if I was oversharing or worse, under-sharing. Then, the zinger came: “We’d like to officially offer you the fellowship.”
Plot Twist: Saying Yes Isn’t Always Easy
Here’s the thing they don’t tell you about receiving life-changing phone calls: they’re not always accompanied by the music-swelling montage scenes you see in the movies. As soon as I hung up, the high of validation gave way to the grim realization of logistics. Accepting the Mountain Ink fellowship meant moving to Chicago, a city where snowdrifts are taller than most farm equipment and rent prices had me clutching my $4 craft beer like a lifeline. It also meant leaving behind my cozy community, my local coffee shop that knew my order without asking, and people who very much did not refer to soda as “pop.”
That night, I sat on the floor of my apartment surrounded by travel mugs I never used (see: coffee addiction), Boise memorabilia I couldn’t part with, and two conflicting emotions: absolute terror and giddy excitement. Was I crazy for even considering leaving the safety net of Boise for an uncertain big-city adventure? Or was staying put and playing it safe the crazier option?
Lessons from the Potato Field
In moments like these, I think about my grandparents: potato farmers who survived bad harvests, backbreaking labor, and the rise and fall of agricultural trends with a kind of steady resilience I’ve tried to channel my whole life. My grandma would always say, “If the soil feels right, plant it, water it, and grow something out of it.” That night, after overanalyzing every pro and con bullet point on my laptop, I realized the soil beneath me was no longer nourishing me the way it once had. It was time to plant somewhere else, even if “somewhere else” meant trading friendly neighbors for Midwestern wind tunnels.
Chicago: More Than Deep Dish and Cold Weather
When I finally landed in Chicago, I wasn’t just looking at a new career chapter—I was staring down an entirely new version of myself. Mountain Ink put me in rooms I never thought I’d be in, interviewing community leaders for investigative features, sitting alongside fellowships peers whose bylines I’d hungrily devoured for years, and seeing my words, my voice, printed in a glossy magazine. But what surprised me most wasn’t the professional growth—it was the personal transformation.
Chicago cracked me open. It taught me self-reliance in a way I never experienced before. I learned that relationships don’t have to feel effortless to be worth the effort (hello, long-distance best friendships) and that small talk with strangers waiting for the L is its own kind of magic. And while I still used “y’all” way more than any Midwesterner considered appropriate, I finally made peace with “pop.”
How a Phone Call Can Change Everything (Even You)
I sometimes wonder what would’ve happened if I hadn’t answered Sara’s call. Would I still be in Boise, writing about blockchain and filling my weekends with lake trips to Lucky Peak? Maybe. And maybe there’s an alternate version of me out there living that life, perfectly happy. But here’s the thing about life-changing phone calls—or big leaps, or any decision that feels equally exhilarating and terrifying: You never know what the growth will look like until you stand in the middle of it.
That call reminded me of something important—not just about writing or career moves but about relationships, decisions, and life itself. Sometimes we don’t feel ready for a new chapter to begin, but it begins anyway. Sometimes saying yes to something big, uncertain, and new frees up parts of ourselves we didn’t know existed.
Your Yes Moment Awaits
Not every life-changing decision comes with the dramatic punctuation of a buzzing phone and a voice telling you, “This is it!” Often, they sneak in subtly—maybe it’s an opportunity you’ve been waiting for, or maybe it’s the realization that you’ve outgrown the path you’re on. Either way, the moment will come. And when it does, answer it. Say yes. Plant something in new soil.
Because here’s the truth: The call I’ll never forget wasn’t just about my career. It showed me a side of myself that I wasn’t sure existed. Turns out, the girl who grew up on stories of potato farming could find her footing—even in a cold Midwestern city, far from home. And if that’s true for me, it can be true for you, too.
