Reflections on the new release date for Fields of Resilience
When I first began writing Fields of Resilience, I had a vision—and a timeline. I marked April 2025 as the release date with conviction. It felt symbolic. Grounded. Achievable.
It was also the first time I had ever tried to publish a coffee table book.
And like so many first-time endeavors, I quickly discovered there was more to this than I had imagined. Not just in the logistics—photo licensing, layout design, printing specs, and distribution—but in the emotional weight of doing it justice.
This isn’t just a book filled with beautiful photographs.
It’s a book filled with real people.
Real places.
Real stories that deserve the time and care to be told well.
Listening, Learning, Letting Go
Over the past few months, I’ve had the privilege of connecting with others who have walked this path—authors, photographers, designers, and printers who understand this process far better than I did at the start. And the consistent message was clear:
Let the book take the time it needs.
So, I’m doing just that.
The new release date for Fields of Resilience is August 2025—and in a way, it feels perfectly aligned. This August will mark two years since the photographs that sparked this journey were taken in Uganda.
Two years since I stood in the red soil of Kobusinge and Kyangwali.
Two years since I planted trees alongside students and volunteers.
Two years since I captured moments that I’m still learning how to write about.
What I’ve Learned
There’s value in ambition. But there’s also wisdom in humility—in listening to people who’ve done what you’re trying to do, and adjusting your path accordingly.
As a communication professional, I know the power of a well-timed message. But I also know the power of pausing, of being honest about the work, and of honoring the integrity of the process.
This book isn’t late.
It’s becoming what it was always meant to be.
Looking Ahead
Between now and August, I’ll continue sharing stories—behind-the-scenes reflections, snippets of the journey, and the lessons unfolding along the way.
If you’re someone who values meaningful work, cross-cultural connection, or the quiet power of listening before launching—I hope you’ll continue walking with me.
Thank you for your patience. For your encouragement. And for believing, as I do, that some stories need time to breathe before they’re ready to be told.
