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I Never Forgot You, Mr. Kindness.

a black and white photo of a dark brown toy horse

While living in New York, my family and I often took road trips during winter vacation, making the long drive to Miami. One of our favorite stops was South of the Border in South Carolina, a quirky tourist spot that remains a treasure to this day. I have so many memories from those trips, but one stands out—etched into my heart by the kindness of a stranger.

I was 9 or 10 years old, bubbling with excitement as we stopped at South of the Border. The arcade was my favorite place. The flashing lights, the sounds of the machines, and most importantly, the prizes! On this particular day, I had my heart set on a plastic brown horse with a black mane, one of the prizes displayed behind the counter.

I pleaded with my mom for another quarter to play the games that rewarded us with prize tickets. She held firm to her “no” because she didn’t like us pushing our luck, and I reluctantly accepted that I wouldn’t have enough tickets for the horse. Disappointed, I pushed to the counter with my mom, searching for a consolation prize with the tickets I had.

I wasn’t exactly happy—when I set my sights on something, I’m always determined to get it! But then, something unexpected happened. A man, whose face I can’t recall after all these decades, approached us. He spoke to my mom, and she must have nodded her approval because he then turned to me and said, “Close your eyes and open your hands.”

I hesitated, looking up at my mom for permission. After she gave me the go-ahead, I did as he asked. When I opened my hands, I felt the weight of countless South of the Border tokens pouring into my palms. My eyes widened with delight—I had so many tokens that I needed a cup to hold them all!

I was thrilled. I pushed back to the arcade, determination fueling every turn of my wheels. In the 1970s, not every arcade game was accessible to me, so I carefully chose ones I could reach and play. I don’t remember what game I played that day, but I do remember the joy of hearing the clink of tickets spilling out of the machine as I worked toward my goal.

Eventually, I returned to the counter, hopeful that I had enough tickets for the horse. The guy at the counter, now familiar with my quest, smiled as he counted. Unfortunately, I still didn’t have enough. Disappointed but grateful for the man’s kindness, I selected another prize. My mom reassured me that maybe, on our return trip, I could try again.

We went to the diner to eat before continuing our journey to Disney. As we were leaving, the same man appeared again. He asked me once more, “Close your eyes and open your hands.” This time, I didn’t hesitate. Maybe I’ve always been a hopeful person, even as a child.

When I opened my hands, I didn’t feel the familiar weight of tokens. Instead, I opened my eyes to see it—the brown horse with the black mane. My heart leapt with joy! I thanked him with a huge smile and looked to my mom for approval. She smiled and nodded, and I thanked him again before holding onto that horse like it was the most precious thing in the world.

I don’t know what happened to that horse or to the kind stranger, but his generosity has stayed with me my entire life. To this day, when I see a child with their eyes glued to something they truly want, I channel his kindness.

So, to the kind stranger from South of the Border: thank you. Your simple act of generosity became a lifelong memory.

This is the first of 55 stories I’m sharing to celebrate my 55th year of life. If you enjoyed this story and feel it’s worth a cup of coffee, here’s the link to support my work.

Thank you for reading,
Nathasha

Be sure you read about my three words. Click here.

a black and white photo of a dark brown toy horse
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Savor, Elevate, Thrive: My Three Words for 2025

Many years ago, I learned about the practice of choosing three words to guide you through the year. It’s a simple idea with profound power. I tried it a few times, and the impact was undeniable. I still remember the year my word was quality. It became my anchor during tough decisions, reminding me to prioritize what mattered most.

This year, as I approach my 55th birthday next Thursday, I decided it was time to bring the practice back. But this time, I added a little extra magic: I created a vision board. I spent an afternoon cutting out words and images from magazines, and two of my three words jumped out at me like they were waiting to be found. The third word? I already knew it deep down.

So, here they are: Savor, Elevate, Thrive.

These three words feel perfect for me as I prepare for the year ahead. Life isn’t always a smooth ride—it’s not a Disney attraction with endless fun and fireworks. But even when things get tough, these words will help guide my mindset and my decisions. Of course, I’ll still rely on prayer and spiritual guidance, but a little extra positivity never hurts.

Savor

This year, I will not rush through the moments that count. I will pause, take a breath, and truly savor them. Too often, we let life speed past us, but when I’ve stopped to savor an experience, it’s like all my senses come alive.

Savoring life doesn’t just mean the joyful moments—it means embracing the quiet ones, the unexpected ones, and even the challenging ones. Because those are the moments that shape us.

Elevate

Elevate is about raising the bar in every area of my life, starting with the conversations I have. I miss the depth of discussions I used to have in college—talking about novels, philosophy, politics, and life. Social media doesn’t quite cut it for me, and while I have intelligent friends, our conversations often skim the surface. I want more. I want to go deeper.

Elevating also means expanding my cultural experiences. I love the idea of attending symphonies, art shows, and book events, but accessibility and logistics often get in the way. Sometimes it feels easier to stay home than to face the hassle. But this year, I want to make the effort, even if it’s not always convenient.

It’s not just about the cerebral side of life, though. Elevate also means improving my health choices, like dining at home more often and seeking out quality experiences when I do eat out. No more overpriced slop at restaurants—I deserve better!

I know I can’t elevate everything all at once, so I’m focusing on a few key areas. It’s a work in progress, but the journey excites me.

Thrive

This word has been on my mind the most, maybe because it rhymes with 55 or maybe because it’s exactly what I need. Life isn’t just about surviving; it’s about thriving.

I don’t want to live with the mindset of “just getting by.” I want abundance, success, love, and joy. Thriving means pouring into Audacity Magazine so it can reach more people and make a bigger impact. It means appreciating the life I already have while dreaming even bigger.

Thriving isn’t just a goal for me—it’s a mindset. I believe if more people chose to thrive, the world would be a better place. But since I can only control my own actions, I’m focusing on thriving for me.

A Year of Audacity

As I step into 2025, I know that savoring life, elevating my experiences, and committing to thriving will help me navigate whatever comes my way. I’m so grateful for the life I’ve built, for the ability to pay my bills, for my love of teaching, and for the opportunity to give back through Audacity Magazine.

Here’s to a year of audacity, growth, and living life to the fullest. I’m ready to savor, elevate, and thrive—and I hope you’ll join me on this journey.

With love and gratitude,
Nathasha

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Reflecting on 55: A Recharge, a Reset, and a Lot of Questions

group of people raising their champagne glasses.

Today was my day to recharge: cleaning, tossing things out, and making space for a fresh start. For me, the new year doesn’t begin on January 1st; it starts on my birthday, January 9th. 🎉 This annual ritual of decluttering feels like hitting a personal reset button, preparing me for whatever’s next.

But this time, it was different.

While sorting through old notebooks, I stumbled into what felt like a personal time capsule—a review of the last 10 to 15 years of my life. Out of nowhere, the tears came. Not the dramatic, shoulder-shaking kind, but those slow, deliberate tears that catch you off guard. Were they happy tears? Sad tears? Honestly, I couldn’t tell.

As I flipped through the pages, memories of Deb and Jamie washed over me—two of my Capricorn diva sisters, two of my closest friends with osteogenesis imperfecta (OI) who are no longer here. Deb and Jamie weren’t just friends; they were kindred spirits, women who understood the peculiar alchemy of living with OI. We shared more than a birthday month or a condition—we shared a vow to live audaciously, to defy the limits the world tried to place on us.

And now, they’re gone.

Here I am, on the cusp of turning 55, missing them fiercely and thinking about where I stand.

For a long time, I’ve wondered: Am I an outlier? Back in the 1970s, my level of OI—what I believe is Type 3—was considered one of the most severe. And yet, I’ve lived a life many people, even those without OI, would call independent. I work full time, drive my own car, go out, and run a nonprofit I’m incredibly proud of. By most measures, I’m thriving.

But when I visit OI support groups, I see something different. Most people my age, for reasons that vary, aren’t living like this. They struggle with their health, rely on others for help, or are forced to step back from their careers and passions as their bodies hit their limits.

That’s when the question creeps in: Am I really alone in this journey?

Surely, there must be others like me—people with severe OI who have found ways to live independently, to keep going, to push boundaries. Maybe they’re out there, too busy living their lives to spend much time on social media. Or maybe, just maybe, I’m walking a path no one else is on.

And if that’s true, what does it mean?

group of people raising their champagne glasses.

As my birthday approaches, the questions have only grown louder: What do I need to do before my body gives out on me?

It’s not an easy question to ask, but it feels unavoidable now. I know I’m lucky—remarkably lucky—to have gotten this far. But my bones remind me every day that I don’t have forever.

I’ve accomplished so much that I’m proud of. I run AudacityMagazine.com, a nonprofit that amplifies disabled voices. I write for my blog, where I share my thoughts and experiences. I’m working on a mystery novel. I teach. I live.

But even with all of that, I can’t shake the nagging thought: Am I living my purpose? Have I done enough?

These thoughts play in my mind like a favorite (or maybe not-so-favorite) song stuck on repeat. I think about Deb and Jamie, how they lived with passion and purpose despite the odds. I think about the vow we made to live audaciously. Am I doing enough to keep that promise?

Maybe I’ll never have all the answers. Maybe these questions will always linger, chasing me into every new chapter of my life. But if there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s this: I’ll keep asking. I’ll keep pushing forward. I’ll keep living loudly, fiercely, and unapologetically—just like Deb and Jamie taught me.

So here’s to 55. Here’s to the next chapter. Here’s to whatever comes next. 💜

If this article brought a smile to your face, consider buying me a coffee. Click here.

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My Unique Disabled Latina Life Requires No Approval.

long view of an industrial looking hallway with a female wheelchair user pushing away from the camera and towards the door at the end of the hallway

It’s that time of year. If you’ve been following my disabled Latina life, you know that my birthday is around the corner. I start making plans to celebrate more than the year before.

But then Covid came in 2020, things changed. Right?

Post Covid life is the same yet different in my life. One change is how much my body has changed. As of the last 30 days, I’ve had Covid twice. I should be thrilled that I am still alive. I am. I’m not thrilled that the same person gave it to me both times. But really? What can I do? I have other fires to put out.

I’m going to be 54 years old in nine days. I don’t have big plans with people. But I have plans and it does have to do with people, just not the way you think. It’s time that I share my life story. Normally, I’d say someone is too young to share their life story until they are in their late70s, but if you’re new here, you need to know that I have Osteogenesis Imperfecta. I’ve fractured hundreds and hundreds of times. I’ve had several operations too. All this before I turned ten. Yeah, that’s a lot for kids nowadays. So I’m happy that I am strong willed and strong minded at 53 because I don’t think I’d be strong if I were a kid in our current society. That’s for another section of my life.

I’ve decided that my podcast might have to be a Youtube video as well. It’s one of the reasons I am writing everything here. You see, not many people who know me know about this website. Therefore, less prying eyes but more freedom to share with you. Who are you? Well, you’re someone who stumbled upon this blog and decided you’d like to read it. So thanks!

I have a 12 year old niece, an almost 4 year old nephew, and an almost 2 year old niece who I love too much. Since my OI might one day take away my quality of life, I think it’s time that I write and speak as much as I can about my life so that when they are older, they can know me better. Not based on what others say because people always exaggerate the best and worst in a person once they are dead. Who needs that?

I had a podcast that was supposed to help people, motivate people, make people feel audacious. But then, I became too busy, helping myself, motivating myself, and making myself feel more audacious.

Oh, I was also teaching middle school and taking care of others. But I’m not supposed to say that because society thinks that disabled people like me need caring for. They don’t realize that we have responsibilities like everyone else.

This is actually one of the reasons why I must get my story out faster than ever. There are too many non disabled people who want to control the narrative of the disabled community. Some people label themselves caregivers or professionals in the disabled community to gain trust from the non disabled. Be careful, my disabled friends. Be very careful. Sometimes their message of empowering you is more how they want to overpower you.

I’m a veteran public school teacher. I see what goes on. Follow my journey. Learn more. Empower yourself with knowledge.

By the way, if you’ve read this far then here’s the link to buy me a cup of coffee. Right now, I’m leaning towards bottomless mimosas. Here’s the link. https://www.buymeacoffee.com/nathashaalvarez

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Leaving It All Out Here

I realized over the summer that I had neglected this site. I do this often. But this time, it will be different. Not different because a miracle occurred. The only miracle is that I am now fifty three years old.

I can’t believe that I’m a veteran middle school teacher. I’ve survived numerous administrators, the good, the crooked, and the cruel. And I’ve endured colleagues who make me wonder if they even know the word integrity. But my students keep me returning every August. I love middle school. Probably because I loved my junior high school years at Centennial Junior High School.

I have a two adorable nieces, Bella and Soleil. I have a Luke. He’s my nephew. It’s not a grammatical mistake when I wrote, “I have a Luke.” He’s something else. I’m excited to see him when he’s in middle school. I have a feeling I will be laughing more than his parents.

Audacitymagazine.com is 20 years old. I wanted to celebrate big. But my health got in the way. It’s been a thorn on my side. That’s it for now because I’m sounding like a cranky person. I won’t be telling people about this site. It will be for me. If people find it, that’s okay too.

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So This is Fifty

I just want to throw it out there. I MADE IT! On January 9th, 2020 I turned fifty! It doesn’t matter what anyone thinks. It only matters what I think. And I think “Thank you, God! I made it!”

One of my sisters and her husband reserved a hotel room on South Beach so I could wake up and see water, write my goals and begin my 50th year in life. I read a text and one of my friends with my disease wrote, “You made it!” and that’s all it took. I cried.

My friend understood. He knew that we had lost so many friends with Osteogenesis Imperfecta that making it to 50 was a big deal.

In case someone is reading this now or in the future, let me make it clear. I am not saying that no one with OI will make it to 50. There are many who have made it to 50 and they have made it to 60, 70 and 80. I don’t know all of them but I know me. I know my life. I know my health. I know what I’ve been through. I know that making it to 50 is a big deal. I know that people who know me know it too.

But it’s not just making it to 50 that makes it a big deal. It’s the other factors that those who know me realize as well. It’s that I am a college educated, Colombian American with a car, a job, and relatively good health. It’s that I can pay my bills and rent. It’s that I live a pretty independent life and I love dealing with challenges head on.

That’s it for now!

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Julie & Julia

I’m reading the book Julie & Julia. I saw the movie a long time ago. I watch it whenever I have the opportunity because there’s something about the movie that motivates me to write on here. Writing here allows me to spill my thoughts because I know that no one is reading it. This blog has been inactive for so long that my usual readers have drifted off to other bloggers. In a way, it’s a blessing. Less pressure to please the reader. More freedom to express my thoughts.

I reached out to a friend, “Mary” to seek her expertise advice that would help another friend, “Jo Ann” and “Mary” said that it’s Sunday so she can’t talk. This is the same person who complains on social media about the way people won’t help her when she asks for help. I didn’t get mad at her because I figured she’s already clueless about her actions. Why should I be the one to pop her bubble? Let someone else hit her with reality. I deal with enough people who live in la la la land.

Then I found myself shaking my head in disbelief when I saw someone who I have supported via their fundraising or their work stay silent knowing fully well that their friend was mischaracterizing me. Did I blow a gasket? Nope! I spoke privately to them and found myself shocked to learn that they didn’t see anything wrong with it. Ok! No problem! Next! That’s one less person whose worthy of my time.

I realize that they enjoy controversy and perhaps I should have known that before chiming into their social media conversation but it irks me to see how people can be so extreme in their ways.

Why does everyone have to be so extreme? I’m passionate about many ideas and beliefs but there’s a line that I don’t cross. Today I saw someone who claims to be about the people and for the people but I guess only when the people is them.

Oh well, until next time!

Tomorrow work. Let there be air condition.