I was convinced I’d lost my mind – July, blazing hot, knee-deep in a Johns Island tomato field. My college friends were waitressing at Myrtle Beach, flirting with cute guys, working on golden tans, and pocketing enough tip money to buy new bikinis. Meanwhile, I was in long sleeves and a floppy hat, selling tomatoes for thirty-four cents a pound. They had sun, sand, and suntans. I had stained clothes, bugs, and a farmer’s tan. Some folks call it “character-building.” I just called it flat-out miserable.

But Years Later, Things Changed

After joining the National Speakers Association, I studied other speakers, attempting to shape my own “signature speech.” I leaned on my mentor and friend, Nido Qubein, for advice. He always encouraged me to dig deep. Well, I couldn’t help but think about those summers I literally spent digging in tomato rows.

When I shared this with Nido, he smiled and said the idea had great potential. In my Southern-fried brain, which translated into: “That’s a bumper crop of a speech, and you can keep harvesting new stories around that theme for years to come.” (Okay, so those weren’t his exact words, but they sure worked in my head.)

That’s when it hit me: Don’t Throw Tomatoes at My Field of Dreams. Once I planted that idea, the stories ripened fast. Raw, real – straight from my roots. The lessons? Find your shine like the good tomatoes, cull the issues (and people) holding you back, and when life throws weeds in your row, fire up the tractor and plow right through. Seek wisdom from those you trust to know when to plow up and start over or when to plow through to fresh solutions and a different approach.

Lessons from the “Failure Fields”

I can honestly say that I have lived my message.

In first grade, my big lips and tomboy streak were both a blessing and a curse. I eventually grew into the lips, but back then, all they opened was the door to more teasing. The academic struggles? My parents feared I’d follow in my siblings’ footsteps since they had learning challenges, too. I was placed in the “slow” section in first grade. But let’s be honest, in South Carolina, everything’s done a little slower. I accidentally saw my IQ score-it was so scary-low.

Years later, I was even fired from tutoring dyslexic children because the principal told me I was dyslexic myself.

I wanted to attend college, but my SAT scores were pathetic. I even SAT in year-round school – spring, summer, winter, fall – but apparently just “sitting” doesn’t raise your scores. No college I wanted to attend wanted me.

By the grace of God, a grant, and a cucumber rebate money from a failed crop, a small college finally admitted me, on academic probation. My writing professor once slapped an “F” on my paper. Many years later, I proudly handed him my first published book, Bare Feet to High Heels, in front of the entire student body. Talk about sweet redemption.

And yes, there was also the agent who told me my comedy wasn’t right for SiriusXM radio. Apparently, I was not Sirius enough. (Well, bless it – because today my comedy plays on SiriusXM every day and is streamed on other comedy platforms.)