The story behind my book's dedication

brb, grabbing tissues

There are a few aspects of writing my debut book that will apparently continue to tug on my heartstrings for the foreseeable future:

The acknowledgments. No matter how many times I re-read them, my eyes well up with tears of gratitude for all the wonderful people who make up my support system both personally and professionally.

The intro and conclusion. I get a lump in my throat thinking about what makes LGBTQ+ travel different (and why it matters) and what we deserve as queer travelers: a world where every journey is not just safe but enriching and empowering, for every traveler—and a future where the freedom to explore knows no bounds, where the spirit of adventure is accessible to everyone.

And the dedication. It’s kind of a funny story, actually…

How it started

Back in 2005, I was an overeager eighth-grader under the tutelage of one Mrs. Zeigler, a bold and brilliant English teacher whom the other middle schoolers and I referred to affectionately as “Mama Z.”

At that point in my young life, I'd always loved writing and excelled at language arts, but I'd never had the confidence to show my work to anyone aside from my teachers. That year, Mama Z encouraged me to enter a poem I'd written called A Deep Breath to the Scholastic Writing Awards program in the Harrisburg region, and it ended up winning a Gold Key award.

I didn't realize it at the time, but that experience turned out to be a pivotal moment for me: It put me on the path to becoming a writer.

In the high school years that followed, I went on to win a national essay contest at Seventeen Magazine and to pursue a Davenport Fellowship at the Harrisburg Patriot-News. After that, I earned a journalism degree at Penn State, where I served as an editor at the student-led blog Onward State. Post-grad, I moved to New York and took a job as a full-time editor at Her Campus Media. A few years later, I moved to North Carolina to take on the role of reporter and editor at the Charlotte Observer, which is where I began travel writing for other McClatchy-owned magazines. After that, I joined theSkimm full-time as a senior editor. Now I live abroad in the Netherlands, where I continue to work professionally both writing and editing to this day — most recently, for Lonely Planet as the author of this very book.

On my last day in Mama Z’s class, she told me that she was sure I'd write a book one day and that when I did, I should dedicate it to her.

Nearly 20 years later, I’m grateful to say I was finally able to fulfill that promise.

How it went

Though I hadn’t stayed in close contact with Mama Z after graduation, the promise I’d made remained stubbornly present in my mind over the years. It whispered to me as I crafted my first book proposal (and the many, many subsequent drafts thereof) and grew to an indignant roar as I wrapped up the final edits on my manuscript.

I’ll admit that around this time, I began to feel a bit trepidatious about dedicating this very queer book to a woman I hadn’t spoken with in nearly two decades. I could recall with vivid clarity how deeply she seemed to care about protecting the rights of others when we studied The Diary of Anne Frank and To Kill a Mockingbird, so I was cautiously hopeful that she’d be cool with the whole LGBTQ+ thing, but… a lot of people her age in the area I grew up with were definitively not cool with it, so who knew how she’d feel?

I decided I should at least contact her to tell her what the book was about before I attached her name to it, giving her the chance to decline in case she didn’t want to be associated with the topic. I tried to look her up so I could reach out to her as the book’s deadline grew closer, but it seemed she had both retired and remarried, and I was struggling to uncover her new name and contact information.

I reached out to a friend of mine who had been in that same English class and remembered that promise I’d made Mama Z as well, asking if she knew of any way to get in touch with her. Thankfully, one of her closest friend’s moms was good friends with Mama Z and was able to share her email address with me.

I drafted an email to her, re-introducing myself and giving some background on what had been going on in my life since I left her classroom, then ended with:

On my last day in your class in 2006, you told me you were sure I'd write a book one day and that when I did, I should dedicate it to you.

Well, I'm a week from submitting my manuscript to Lonely Planet for my debut book, The LGBTQ+ Travel Guide—but before I dedicate it to you, I wanted to reach out to make sure you'd be comfortable being associated with this type of content.

I've included the context for the book below, if you'd like to take a moment to review it before letting me know your thoughts. No hard feelings at all if it's not up your alley, but if it's something you're open to, I'd love to make good on the promise I made to you in your classroom 18 years ago.

I took a deep breath and hit send, hoping for the best but preparing myself for the worst.

Her reply came a week later.

Oh my dear Alicia! I just read this last night. First, my jaw dropped. Then I cried. Then I told my husband.

I am humbled and honored that you would remember me and my words of encouragement. I am overwhelmed that you want to dedicate your book to me, and I gratefully accept that offer. (If I were writing this with old-world paper and ink, this is where a few smudges of teardrops would be.)

I lay awake awhile last night remembering your face and how much I loved your gift of writing and enthusiasm for learning. I remember how proud of you I was every time I could read a piece of yours in the Patriot while you had that fellowship. You are right, that many years of teaching have overlapped in my overloaded brain files, but when you wrote those details, those memories came right up.

You have made an amazing life journey, fulfilling my hopes for you. Teachers don’t often receive the gift of seeing how their students succeed, so thank you for this gift. You have no idea how much this validation means to me.

God’s sense of humor and pointed use of synchronicity floors me, every time. Right now, our small church is exploring the possibility of becoming Open and Affirming (the term for a church that welcomes all people of all sexual identities into worship and full membership). I am currently part of the focus group learning about this and seeking discernment for our congregation’s part in this. In fact, a few years ago, we called a new settled pastor who openly identifies as Queer. The more I learn, the more I am convinced that God created all varieties of human sexual expression, and love is love. Period.

The synchronicity of your book and my own journey blows me away.

Thank you for this gift to me. You were always a gift to me, even when you were in eighth grade!

I mean!!!

I’m not crying, you’re crying!

Just kidding, I am absolutely crying. Hot, happy tears of gratitude.

How it’s going

Mama Z and I continued to exchange emails over the course of the summer, catching up on all that’s happened in each of our lives since the early aughts.

I learned how she met her new husband, with whom she’d just celebrated six years of marriage, and where they now lived together. She told me all about her son, his wife, and the two lovely granddaughters they'd given her. I grinned when I read that she was still riding the same horse she'd ridden back when I was her student, and that even in retirement, she still identified as a teacher deep within her soul. Truthfully, I’d have expected nothing less.

Then she shared a serendipitous discovery with me:

Are you prepared for another synchronicity? I was rummaging in my book cupboard two nights ago for some reason, and pulled out a lovely journal with a pink-frosted cupcake on the cover. Guess who gave it to me? You! I read what you wrote in it and nearly cried.

No longer surprised (though still delighted) in all the mysterious ways in which the universe works, I replied with a warm heart:

Synchronicity, indeed! I can't quite recollect what I message I left in there for you, but I can only imagine I'd echo the same sentiments today: You were a wonderful teacher and I am beyond grateful to you for empowering me to find my voice as a writer all those years ago.

Sincerer words have never been spoken. I’m humbled and honored that I was able to dedicate this book to Mama Z as a token of my gratitude for the impact she’s had on my life—and the lives of so many students—and the force for good that she is in the world as a whole. Her kindness, support, and encouragement buoyed me during the periods of self-doubt that are so dreadfully common in adolescence.

I was tremendously lucky to have her in my corner at such a pivotal moment in my life as a young writer.

I hope that I have the chance to pay it forward to another young writer at some point in the future.

I hope that you do, too.