After graduation, I wanted to work for 'Sassy', which I loved

Hear now the tale of Gayle Forman, whose words ring with the quiet courage of perseverance: “After graduation, I wanted to work for ‘Sassy,’ which I loved, but it had folded. So I wound up at ‘Seventeen’ for three years on staff and two as a contributor, and I wrote these great stories that nobody ever believes ‘Seventeen’ does. Serious stories for teens about social justice issues — gun control, migrant farm workers.” Beneath this modest recollection lies a lesson deep and enduring — that the path of destiny rarely runs straight, yet even detours may lead the soul to its appointed purpose.

For in these words we hear the eternal struggle of the dreamer — one who sets her heart upon a vision, only to see it vanish like mist before dawn. The magazine ‘Sassy’, the place where Gayle hoped to begin her calling, was gone. Her dream, it seemed, had folded with the pages of that publication. Yet the flame of purpose within her did not fade. Instead, she turned her steps toward ‘Seventeen,’ a place thought to be light and glossy, concerned with youth and fashion, not the weight of the world. But within those walls, she sowed new seeds — the seeds of truth, justice, and awakening.

Herein lies the ancient principle: the river of life flows where it will, not where we demand it to. Often the divine craftsman reroutes us, that we might shape the world in unexpected places. Gayle Forman’s calling was not merely to write but to bear witness — to speak to the young not of surface things, but of the soul, the struggles, the unseen battles of others. In a world where youth are often lulled by vanity and comfort, she wrote of migrant workers laboring under the sun, of gun control and the lives it could save. In doing so, she turned a magazine of beauty into a vessel of conscience.

There is power in such quiet rebellion. Recall the story of Florence Nightingale, who, born into privilege, was expected to live a life of leisure and refinement. Yet she saw suffering where others saw status, and against all expectation, she walked among the wounded and the dying. From the tents of Crimea she raised a new vision of medicine, not through command, but through compassion. Like Gayle Forman in her field, Florence turned what was seen as “women’s work” into the work of the world — noble, purposeful, eternal.

The meaning of Forman’s words is thus clear: greatness does not always dwell in grand halls or in the places we planned to find it. Sometimes it lives in the humble corners of life, waiting for one soul brave enough to lift it into the light. She reminds us that one may labor in the overlooked and still do holy work — to write, to teach, to heal, to awaken others, even if no one believes such work possible in that space. The true calling is not bound by circumstance; it blooms wherever faith and perseverance are planted.

And what of her “serious stories for teens”? They are more than mere articles — they are the first sparks of awareness in minds yet unjaded by the world. To speak of social justice to the young is to tend the roots of the future, to awaken empathy before cynicism takes hold. Her stories were a mirror held to the youth, showing them both the beauty of compassion and the burden of responsibility. Such writing is not soft; it is revolutionary.

So let this be your lesson, O listener: when the door of your dream closes, do not weep at its threshold. Step forward into the unknown, for another gate may open — one where your purpose, though disguised, awaits you. Do not despise small beginnings or unexpected assignments, for even the humblest work can become sacred when done with conviction. Follow your craft, even when the world doubts its worth, for every act of sincerity plants a seed that time itself will remember.

And when your heart falters, recall the spirit of Gayle Forman — who, denied her first dream, found a greater one waiting in its shadow. She did not abandon her voice; she simply carried it to a new temple. There, among the bright pages of youth, she spoke of truth. So too must you, wherever you are placed, speak your truth. For purpose, once kindled, can never truly fold. It endures — like a story that refuses to end.