I Had No Choice But to Go to Stockholm

I contracted an infectious disease called polio when I was ten months old, and I have lived in a wheelchair ever since I was eight.
Then, when I turned 65, my health declined, and I began spending more days in bed.

"Ah, my life is over now."

Even when morning came, I didn't feel like getting up.
There was nowhere in particular I wanted to go.
There was no one I wanted to see.
I couldn't find anything I wanted to do.

My daughters had moved out, my husband went to work, and I was alone in the house during the day.

While blankly watching the light streaming in through the window,
"Has my life already ended?"
I was thinking things like that.

Still, doing nothing was boring.

I listened to Audible every day.
One day, what caught my ear was
"It is wonderful to be able to earn money even after retirement"
a story about that.

I couldn't help but smile bitterly.

How on earth could I earn money at this stage in my life?

I am not good at writing compositions.
I have no special qualifications.
I cannot do sales.

But that book said,

"Let's try writing a blog."

It said that.

A blog?
I didn't even know what a blog was.

Even so, I searched for it on my smartphone.
The one that came up first was Ameba Blog.
I decided to register for now.

And I wrote a post called "Self-Introduction."
Since I didn't know how to write one, I wrote it while imitating other people's self-introductions.
That was my first post.

When I looked at it the next day, there were a few "likes" on it.
I was surprised.
A few people had read it.

I was truly happy at that moment.
Someone had read my writing.
Just that alone warmed my heart.

Around that time, I was obsessed with the books of a certain author.
I read their books, subscribed to their newsletter, and watched their YouTube videos.
I was encouraged by that person's words almost every day.
So, the blog was like a letter addressed to that person.
"I watched your video again today."
"You gave me energy."
"I feel like there are still things I can do."
I was writing things like that.

When I was a student, I liked exchange diaries and pen pals.
So I think it felt more like writing letters than writing essays.

However, as I continued for a while, I started to feel lonely.
Of course, there was no way I would get a reply.
After all, the person was a famous author.

But I had been expecting a reply on my own.
No matter how many times I wrote 'thank you,' there was no reply.
I felt sad for some reason.
And then I couldn't write anymore.

So, what should I write?
At that moment, I suddenly thought of my mother.

I had lost my mother.
Not much time had passed since she passed away.
And I was full of regret.
I knew nothing about my mother.

What kind of things was my mother thinking about?
What kind of dreams did she have?
Was she truly happy?
I had only ever had her listen to my own stories.

But I have almost no memory of listening to my mother's stories.
I should have listened more.
I should have talked to her more.
Only those regrets remained.

And then one day, I realized something.

Perhaps my daughters might think the same thing.

After I am gone,
they might wonder, 'What kind of life did Mom lead?'

If so, I should leave it behind while I still can.
What kind of life have I lived?
What made me happy?
What did I struggle with?
In what way was I happy?
I decided to start writing about my life for my daughters.

I started writing from the time I graduated from a special needs school.

When I graduated, I wanted to go to university.
I wanted to take entrance exams just like everyone else and become a university student.
But the times were different back then than they are now.
Just because I was in a wheelchair, the universities I could apply to were limited.
In the end, I couldn't go to university.
When morning came,
my father, mother, and brother would go to work.
My younger sister would go to school.
I was all alone in the house.

I would watch TV or read books in the empty house.
Even though I should have been free, I wasn't free at all.

I felt as if I had been left behind.
Would I be stuck at home like this forever?
I had that kind of anxiety.

Eventually, I thought to myself:
I have to do something.

And so, I got my driver's license at a rehabilitation center.
I still remember the first time I drove a car by myself.
I felt like I could go anywhere.
The world suddenly opened up.

After that, I was introduced to a job.
Going to work at a set time every day and receiving a paycheck.
It might be a normal thing, but it made me very happy.
I felt like I had become a member of society.

Once I started working, I gradually gained confidence.
Then, I wanted to leave home.
I wanted to live away from my parents.

However, at that time, there were almost no landlords who would rent a room to a single woman in a wheelchair.
It's hard to believe now, but that was truly the era it was.
So, I got married.

Of course, I loved him, but to be honest, the feeling of 'wanting to leave home' was also a big factor.
Thinking about it now, it was quite a bold decision.

Life after marriage was fun.
Since we were both working, we had some money to spend freely.
I went abroad for the first time.
I also went on trips with friends from work.
Every time I saw scenery I didn't know,
I thought, 'Was the world this vast?'

And so, we built a house.
It was a thirty-five-year mortgage.
As I pressed my seal onto the contract at the bank,
I felt anxious, wondering if we could really pay it off.
Even so, I was happy to have a home of our own.
And it was a barrier-free house, too.
I could move around freely, even in a wheelchair.
It was like a dream.

However, I became even more greedy.
I wanted a child.
Even now, I think it was reckless.
We had just built the house.
We had a mortgage.
I myself have a disability.
Still, I wanted one.
I didn't want to have regrets when I reached an age where I could no longer give birth.

I quit my job and became a full-time housewife.
My husband and I continued fertility treatment, and finally, we were blessed with two daughters.
The joy I felt when my daughters were born is beyond words.

My husband worked incredibly hard to pay off the mortgage we had taken out in both our names.
I lived my life watching our daughters grow.

Looking back, I think it was a truly happy time.
That is precisely why I felt regret when my mother passed away.

I do not know my mother's life.
But I want my daughters to know mine.

What kind of life have I lived?
What did I find interesting, what did I worry about, and what did I consider happiness?

As I continued to write while thinking about such things, the number of people reading my work gradually increased.

One day, a comment arrived.
"I look forward to reading it every time."
That was what it said.
I was so happy I could jump for joy.
Furthermore, that person wrote,
"It's like reading an NHK morning drama."
A morning drama.
What a wonderful compliment.
I was in a good mood all day that day.

From then on, I began to wait for that person's comments every time.
It felt like waiting for a reply from a pen pal living far away.
I am happy when a comment arrives.
I write a reply.
I write again the next day.
Before I knew it, I was writing my blog because I wanted that person to read it.

It was one such day.
An unfamiliar notification arrived in my message box.
The subject line was,
"Writing Request"
.
I stared at the screen for a while.
A writing request?
For me?
Could there be some mistake?
With a pounding heart, I opened the message.

It said,
"Are you interested in publishing?"
I was ecstatic.

Becoming a book.
My writing might become a book.

I had never thought about such a thing before.
But once I started thinking about it, I couldn't stop.

What if my book were lined up in a bookstore?
What would be written on the obi strip?
Would my daughters be happy if I showed it to them?
In my mind, I had already become a bestselling author.

After that, I received a similar message from another company.
They asked to talk on Zoom.
I didn't know what Zoom was.

First, I looked up Zoom.
I installed it on my computer.
I looked up how to use it.

When the day came, I was nervous and did connection tests many times.
The representative who appeared on the screen was a very pleasant person.
I was full of expectations.

However, when I heard the details, it seemed to be a system called co-publishing.
They said it costs money to publish a book.
I was surprised when I heard the amount.

600,000 yen.

For a moment, I seriously thought about paying it.

After all, I could publish a book.
I want to publish at least one book in my life.
That was how I felt.

But when I consulted a friend,

"Wait a minute"

they stopped me.

When I looked into it later, it seemed that such business practices were not uncommon.
In the end, I declined the offer.

Even so, I was happy.
Because,
"Your writing will become a book"
I was happy to be told that.

From that point on, my antenna was completely tuned toward publishing.
At that time, a friend told me about a newspaper advertisement.
It was a publishing consultation session held by a publisher.
They said it would be held at a hotel in Yokohama.

I printed out my blog articles and even created a profile to participate.
I felt just like a student preparing for an entrance exam.
However, even there, the first thing they talked about was money.

In my heart, I thought,
"Oh, here we go again."

Still, since I had come all this way, I had them look at the manuscript I brought.
The person in charge flipped through the pages and said,
"This is interesting."
That one sentence made me happy.
Furthermore, they told me,
"There is a contest like this."
If I won, there might be a possibility of commercial publication.

On the train ride home, I was thinking.
Maybe I really could get published.

And then, I found a course called the Bestseller Author Training Course.
I was serious at the time.
I signed up, prepared to take a leap of faith.

The course was on Zoom.
However, my computer was old and didn't have a camera or microphone.
So I even bought a new computer.
Thinking about it now, that was taking it too far.
But at the time, I was obsessed.

For six months, I learned about publishing.

I wrote a proposal.
I thought of a title.
I thought about the readers.
And finally, there was a publishing audition.
I had to give a presentation.

I had never given a presentation before.
I didn't really understand PowerPoint either.
Still, I studied desperately.
I made slides until late at night.
I practiced many times.

And then, the day of the event.
The other participants' presentations were brilliant.
Their speaking style was good.
Their slides were beautiful.

I felt completely out of place.
I can't do this.
That was how I felt.

However, something strange happened.

One of the judges, an editor, raised their hand.
And it was an editor from a famous publishing house.

I couldn't believe it.
I felt like I was floating on air.
Maybe I really could get published.
I was so excited that night that I couldn't sleep.

A few days later, I had a Zoom meeting with that editor.
They said they would pitch my project at the editorial meeting.
I'll let you know when the results are in.
That's what they told me.

I waited.
I waited every day.
I checked my email over and over.
Is it here yet?
What happened?
I was restless with a mix of anticipation and anxiety.
But a week passed, and nothing came.
A month passed, and nothing came.
Several months passed, and still nothing came.
I kept waiting, even while half-resigned.
And then, one day.
The email finally arrived.

I opened the email, feeling as if I were holding my breath.
The result was a rejection.
The editor had written,
"I thought it was a good project. Please have confidence in yourself."
But it seemed it didn't pass the editorial meeting.
The reasons were also written there.

Low follower count.
No media exposure.
No clear prospect for sales.

That was the content.
I stared at the screen for a while.

The world really isn't that easy after all.
That's what I thought.

But strangely enough, I didn't feel that depressed at the time.
Because, in the time it took for that email to arrive, I had become obsessed with something else.

It was increasing my follower count.
I want to get published.
To do that, I need media exposure.
I also need followers.
Thinking that, I dove into the world of social media.

Write on note every day.
Post to Facebook.
Post to X as well.
Read various people's articles.
Write comments.
Click 'like'.
Read again.
Write comments again.
It felt like an endless job.

Wake up in the morning and look at my smartphone.
Look at my smartphone before going to bed at night.
I'm happy when I get a notification.
I'm happy when my followers increase.
I'm happy when the numbers go up.
But the next day, I want even more.
Thinking back on it, I was completely controlled by the numbers.

Around that time, I found something called the National Publishing Audition.
Of course, I applied.
Back then, I would jump at the word 'publishing'.

The first round of judging was a YouTube video.
I had to make a video myself, publish it on the audition channel, and compete based on the number of views.

I had never made a video before.
Wondering what to do, I wrote about it on Facebook.
Then,

"I'll help you."
Someone appeared who said that.

I was surprised.
There are truly kind people on social media.

I set my smartphone on a tripod.
I spoke by myself.
I retook it many times.
I was nervous and made a weird face.
Still, I managed to film it.
Then, it was edited and published on YouTube.

I started asking for favors on social media again.
Please watch it.
Please support me.
Please share it.
I was thinking about nothing but that every day.

The result was a failure.
I couldn't advance to the next stage.

I was exhausted.
I was truly exhausted.
I want to get published.
I want to get published.
I want to get published.
Even though I'm supposed to be working hard for that,
before I knew it, I was only chasing numbers.
I had even forgotten why I started.

It was around that time.
The author who inspired me to start writing a blog launched a crowdfunding campaign to coincide with the release of their new book.

I supported it without hesitation.
Because it was an author I loved.
Among the rewards for that,

There was something called the "Community for Realizing Your Dreams."

It seemed I could learn alongside the author for six months.

I thought it sounded interesting.
At the time, I had no idea that this community would turn my life upside down.

On the day of the first Zoom meeting, the participants were divided into small groups, and the female moderator asked us questions in turn.

The day of the first Zoom meeting. The participants were divided into small groups. And the moderator asked us questions in turn.

"If there were no constraints at all, what would you want to do?"

I intended to say that I wanted to publish a book. That was why I had joined, after all. However, the moment it became my turn, my mouth moved on its own.

"I want to try studying abroad."

I was surprised as I said it myself. Huh? What am I saying? Wasn't I supposed to want to publish a book?

At that time, I was sixty-eight years old. I used an electric wheelchair. I couldn't speak English. I had no stamina. I had no money. I didn't even have the confidence to sit on a plane for a long time. There was no way I could study abroad.

So I intended to say, "Well, it's just a dream of the moment."

However, the people around me were different. "That's great!" "Let's do it!" "It will come true!" Everyone was serious.

I listened while laughing. These people are so kind. But there's no way I can do it, right? That's what I thought.

However, a few days later, I received a message.

"Would you like to talk?" It was from a woman I didn't know. She seemed to be an operations member of the Community for Realizing Your Dreams. It said, "Would you like to talk on Zoom?"

I braced myself a little. What could this be about? Is it some kind of solicitation? But I had no reason to refuse, so I decided to talk to her.

The appointed time arrived, and I opened Zoom. On the other side of the screen were two women. Both of them were wonderful people. They seemed capable at their jobs, full of confidence, and looked radiant.

I felt a little nervous. Why would two people like that want to meet me?

I was even more surprised when I heard what they had to say. Both of them had read my blog. And all of it, too.

I couldn't help but ask, "Why?" Then one of them said with a smile, "Because you're admirable." I didn't understand what she meant.

Then the other person continued.
“We want to support you.”
Support?
Me?
Why?

I understood even less than before.

I was just writing about my own life.
It was a blog I started with the intention of leaving it for my daughters.
I had thought about publishing it, but I’m not a celebrity.
I’m not rich either.
I’m just an ordinary middle-aged woman living in a wheelchair.

Yet, the two of them were serious.
“Let’s go overseas.”
That’s what they said.

I panicked.
“No, no, that’s impossible.”
“I can’t speak English.”
“I don’t have any money.”
“I don’t have the physical strength either.”
“To begin with, I don’t even know if I can get on a plane.”

Then the two of them laughed.
“That’s why we’re going to do a crowdfunding campaign.”

Crowdfunding.
I knew the word.
Just recently, I had supported a crowdfunding campaign for an author I love.

But in my mind,
crowdfunding was something

that amazing people did
to make amazing dreams come true.

I never thought it was something I would do.

“No, no, no.”
I shook my head.
“That’s impossible.”
“Who would give money for something like that?”

Then the two of them said quite simply,
“People will give.”

I had no idea where that confidence came from.

Even after the Zoom call ended, I remained stunned for a while.

What on earth had just happened?
Why would these people want to support me?
Could it be some kind of mistake?

But, it somehow seemed interesting.

In the end, that was everything.
I had always been like that.

I don’t really understand.
But it seems interesting.
When I think that, I end up taking action.

So,
“Well then, I’ll give it a try,”
I said.

From that point on, it was like being caught in a rapid current.
A team was formed to make the crowdfunding campaign a success.
Someone to write the text.
Someone to build the page.
Someone to offer advice.
Someone to host support live streams.
People appeared one after another.

I was simply astonished.

Could something like this really be happening?

Once the page was published, even stranger things began to happen.
It was being shared by people I didn't know.
People I didn't know were supporting me.
Messages of encouragement arrived.
More support came in.
More messages of encouragement arrived.
Every day, I would open my computer and be amazed.

At first, I had only thought of simple rewards.
A thank-you message.
A postcard.
That was about it.

Then, people even started appearing who said,
"I'll give you advice on how to succeed."
I became even more confused.

Why?
Why is everyone supporting me?

No matter how much I thought about it, I didn't understand.
But the support kept growing.

I surpassed the first goal.
I surpassed the second goal as well.
Before I knew it, nearly 800,000 yen in support had been collected.
My initial goal was 500,000 yen.
I had completely exceeded my expectations.

And then, one day, it occurred to me.

I have no choice but to go now.
I can't just say, 'It was impossible after all.'
I can't say that.
So many people have supported me.

I must go to Stockholm.
No,
to be precise,

I had reached a point where I could not avoid going to Stockholm.

At sixty-five,
I thought my life was over.
While listening to Audible in bed,
I was wondering how I would live from then on.

And now, that same me,
at sixty-eight,

is about to go to Stockholm alone in an electric wheelchair.

Life is truly unpredictable.

That is why I think lately:
perhaps I don't need to desperately search for anything.

The events that changed my life
were usually not written on my schedule.

The blog was like that.
The publishing was like that.
And Stockholm was like that too.

That day,
the blog I started to leave my life behind for my daughters,
who would have thought it would take me all the way to Northern Europe?

I had never even dreamed of it.

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