Blooming Late, Knocking Boldly
From the South Side of Chicago to a South African palace—what I learned about courage when fear said “don’t.”
I think I’ve always been a late bloomer, but rest assured… I definitely bloomed.
Becoming a mother of three by the time I was 22 caused me to press pause on my college studies—and looking back, I’m so glad it did. By 35, with a husband and four children, I gave college another try while living abroad. And this time, the pages of study came alive, sometimes even in the very moment. My major was Diplomacy and International Affairs, and there was never a dull moment.
While I could retell those four years of study for pages and pages, I’ll save most of those stories for my subscribers—and the best ones for my memoir. Today, I want to share a story of my first post-graduation experience flying solo, putting those years of study to work in the diplomatic arena.
At the time, I was serving as Assistant Director of International Affairs for a nonprofit doing good work in Western and Southern Africa. Among my many responsibilities was one key task: building relationships. My job was to “get us in the door.” For a young nonprofit, the accomplishments often aren’t well known, so “tooting your own horn” becomes less an option and more a mission.
I learned two things quickly:
The window of time to make an impression is always short. Once you start knocking, don’t stop until the door opens.
Get to the actual decision maker as quickly as possible. No time to climb the ladder—do the research and go straight to the source.
There were several high-level names I managed to connect us with, but one stands apart. Normally, I would get our nonprofit in the door, then step aside so our spokesperson could deliver the message, share the vision, and lay out the plan. But this time, my partner in the “dynamic duo” was away in West Africa. Which meant I’d be walking into this door alone.
Before my arrival in Johannesburg, a dear friend named Nthabiseng—herself a member of the Royal Bafokeng Nation, helped lay the groundwork. With her inside knowledge, I was able to gain access to the King’s assistant. Unfortunately, he was out of town.
But I had done my homework. I knew the powerful role of the Queen Mother, Mmemogolo Semane Molotlegi. So I asked for an audience with her instead. To my surprise and relief, the request was granted.
I can’t tell you much about the beginning of that meeting—my stomach was in knots, my mouth dry, sweat trickling down my back. I only remember being deeply aware of the weight of the moment. But I was prepared.
And preparation carried me through.
What I thought would be a short meeting stretched into an entire hour, with the Queen Mother listening intently, hanging on every word. When I finished, she didn’t just nod politely—she leaned in. She engaged. And from that conversation was born a relationship that lasted for years, watered by her eventual visit to our community—the very vision I had painted for her on that day.
For those who may not know, the Royal Bafokeng Nation is a proud and resourceful community of about 150,000 people in South Africa’s North West Province. Known as the “People of the Dew,” they have a remarkable history of buying back their ancestral land in the 1800s, only to later discover it sat atop some of the world’s richest platinum reserves. Today, through wise investment and strong governance, the RBN has built a multi-billion-rand sovereign wealth portfolio, funding world-class education, infrastructure, and cultural preservation for their people. Leaders like Queen Mother Semane Molotlegi have been celebrated for safeguarding that legacy and carrying it forward with dignity, generosity, and vision.
To have her not only say yes to me, but to travel with a delegation of seven remarkable women to see our work firsthand, it was more than ceremonial. It was transformative. A bridge between cultures. A seedbed of collaboration. A testimony to what can happen when preparation, courage, and opportunity meet in one place.
And here’s the truth: I could have easily disqualified myself. I could have said I was too inexperienced, too unknown, too ordinary to approach royalty. I could have let fear close the door before I even knocked.
But I didn’t. I asked. And she said yes.
That yes shifted the trajectory of my work and reminded me of something I now know in my bones: courage doesn’t cancel fear, it carries you through it.
So if you’re standing at the edge of your own opportunity with trembling hands and a dry mouth, remember this: the power isn’t in feeling ready. It’s in being willing. Willing to knock. Willing to ask. Willing to believe that the vision inside you is worth sharing.
Because sometimes, on the other side of your trembling voice, sits a Queen Mother waiting to say yes.
And yes, I was a late bloomer. But bloom I did. And every bloom, no matter how late, carries seeds that were meant to be planted all along.