Where’s Tinker Bell when you need her?

A friend recently said, “I’ve lost my muse.” Then it dawned on me: Where’s Tinkerbell when you need her?

Usually, when I lose my muse, I’m overwhelmed by the world’s problems or my own, or I get triggered by something in my present that brings me back to the past (and I won’t grow up when I go there!).

In those moments, nothing can amuse me; I can’t feel light when I feel weighted down with heaviness.

Yet, in the depths of despair, a story and a meaningful relationship, like Tinker Bell and Peter Pan, remind me that the muse patiently waits for me to rekindle our connection and engage with her again.

She’s been there all along, throwing fairy dust all over me, enticing me to see the joyfulness in life. Yes, even when I don’t feel like it.

And when I need my real-time dose of Tinker Bell, I can scroll to the bottom of each muse to find my dear friend, Nuria.

With 81 comments, she’s the ‘Muse behind the Muse!’ Even knowing Nuria for thirty-something years now, we can’t help but wonder how she does it.

Could anyone other than Tinker Bell herself stay that upbeat and supportive?

Yes, Nuria is our Tinker Bell!

Just last week, she commented on my muse on Wilt, “What a joy and blessing to have met such larger-than-life folks through time. They all have stories worth remembering.”

She humbly says that as if she doesn’t have an unforgettable story. Hint: I don’t go around calling anybody Tinker Bell.

To fully understand why Nuria’s worthy of this name and will put a smile on your face, we’ll journey back to when her two older brothers left Cuba; it was a part of our history called Operation Peter Pan.

Operation Peter Pan

Knowing about Operation Peter Pan is crucial to grasping Nuria’s story.

Between 1960 and 1962, Operation Peter Pan sent 14,000 Cuban children to the United States in response to the Cuban Revolution and fears of government indoctrination.

Like Nuria’s family, those children and parents separated, sometimes for years, and others never got that reunion, adapting to new lives in a foreign country. 

It’s hard to imagine what sacrifices those families underwent, whether in Cuba or the United States. But we’re going to take that flight to Miami and see.

But first, Alex and I had to get to Miami ourselves for Nuria’s daughter’s wedding.

Flight To Miami

Alex and I met sitting next to each other on an airplane, July 25, 1997, so one might think Alex is a pilot (we have so many airplane collectibles). We also love to hop on a plane and go somewhere. With kids, you know, the drill, family vacations became our thing.

But we’re easing back into the idea of kid-free weekends, and Nuria’s daughter’s wedding came up.

Who else but Nuria could you catch off guard at the last minute and RSVP that you’re coming? Her response was pure glee: “I’m going to make this a second honeymoon for you.”

She has this way of making you feel like the most special person in the world—like family, only we’d never met any of them, come to think of it.

Until we took that flight to Miami, showed up at the wedding, and sat next to Nuria’s brother at the reception.

One minute, Alex told the story of how we met on an airplane, and the next, Nuria’s brother told us how, at 9 and 11 years old, he and his brother flew to Miami to escape communist Cuba.

He wanted me to understand everything he said, even amid the festivities, so I leaned in, prepared that this wasn’t a flight like anything we’d encountered.

• They had to leave their parents and baby sister, Nuria, behind.
• They couldn’t speak English, and their foster family didn’t speak Spanish, so they had to make hand gestures.
• The day after they came to the US, they went to their new school as if nothing life-altering had happened to them.

Those children eventually grew up, but when they did, could they ever leave that behind?

He couldn’t. As an adult, when he had the chance to return to his homeland with his Dad and his brother, though they chose to go and did, he couldn’t. Something inside him told him it was too hard to face the reality of what had happened.

He had fond memories of his grandmother, but he didn’t want to see her as a communist. Or any of their other family and friends who stayed behind and became communists to survive.

Finding Tinker Bell

Here’s Nuria making her entrance with the father-of-the-groom.

And then Nuria appeared. She had tears in her eyes, knowing, from the looks on our faces, the story her brother had told us–how, by telling that story, he had just left his country and his family all over again.

Nuria’s smile lit up the torments of the past and filled those dark days with love and connection.

All he had to do was look; she was—his Tinker Bell.

Nuria and her brother finished the story together. Later, the parents and nine-month-old Nuria left Cuba and came to Miami to reunite with their two sons.

Nuria and her brother hugged as they fondly remembered their parents and older brother, who have since passed. They talked about their parents’ sacrifices, how much family means, and how they have always been there for one another.

Touched, we all had tears in our eyes. No wonder Nuria became everyone’s muse. She filled that role as a baby and filled her family’s hearts with the love they needed to endure their separation.

Nuria grabbed my hand and told me she had something to show me.

She brought me to a unique altar she had arranged with candles and framed pictures of the multi-generations of weddings on both the groom’s and bride’s sides. She showed me the photo of her parents.

And that’s when it all came together–even Nuria sometimes must find her muse again. Standing at that altar, maybe it was the glow of the candlelight, but it all made sense. Just as we look to Nuria when we’ve lost our muse, she looks to her parents.

So we stood and admired Nuria’s parents.

We silently appreciated their joy, beauty, and irreplaceable sacrifices–the gifts her parents gave her that she now repurposes for the next generations.

When we need help finding our muse again, she can stitch together our hurts and unite us with love, resilience, and inspiration because that’s what she does without even trying.

After Pop Jones passed away, I wrote an ode to him. Nuria printed out that muse framed it, and wrapped it with this clock wrapping paper with a hand-written note to Wali that made me cry when she shared it.

She showed up with her granddaughter at Wali’s doorstep (who she had known since her days at the Miami Heat) to hand-deliver it.

Or the time I wrote about “My No-Bell Prize” to celebrate my last day of chemo, and she sent me my own “Celebringing Life” bell, which meant more to me than if I had ever won the actual Nobel Prize.

Thoughtful doesn’t begin to describe dear Nuria, and now I know why: she’s forever the Tinker Bell who emerged from Operation Peter Pan.

With separation, she learned the importance of connection. 

That’s how she spreads her love, beauty, and joy to all she sprinkles with fairy dust.

If you need to find her, look no further than the comments below. And please feel free to leave your fairy dust, too–comments are welcome! 💖💫

Here I am, standing next to Nuria’s brother. Alex is next to Nuria.