In 2007, I found myself in Chicago with my husband for a conference. While he was busy attending sessions, I was happily roaming the Miracle Mile, indulging in some retail therapy and enjoying the city’s sights. All the while, I had one goal in mind: to meet Oprah Winfrey.
Let me clarify: I was her ultimate fan. I never missed an episode of The Oprah Winfrey Show, dedicated myself to her daily affirmations, and often started conversations by saying, “I saw on Oprah the other day…” My afternoons revolved around her wisdom, and she was my happy place.
When I discovered we were heading to Chicago, I was determined to score tickets to a taping. I reached out in every possible way—emails, forms, even trying to sweet-talk my way into a spot. However, my efforts were met with silence. I arrived in Chicago with hope in my heart, convinced that fate would smile upon me.
Staying in downtown Chicago, I frequently checked in with the concierge, hoping for a miracle. I did everything but slip him cash to persuade him to help me get tickets. All he could offer was adding my name to a daily list for potential complimentary tickets. I diligently followed this routine for three days, but on the fourth day, I returned too late to add my name.
I felt a twinge of disappointment, yet I believed my connection with Oprah would overshadow this unfortunate timing. After all, I had been reading her latest Book Club pick at a local Starbucks! I was owed a moment with her, right?
The following morning, as I stepped into the elevator with my husband, I found myself surrounded by two exuberant women in their forties. They were practically bouncing with excitement. Initially, I thought they were just moms enjoying a break from the chaos of family life.
“OMG! I can’t believe our hotel was chosen to see Oprah!” one exclaimed, while the other chimed in, “We put our names on the list every day, and it totally paid off!”
In that instant, my heart sank. I had one day—just one day—where I faltered in my Oprah devotion, and it cost me dearly. As tears welled up, my husband looked on, confused, while I tried to maintain some semblance of dignity.
As if the universe was playing a cruel joke, I later ran into the same two women after their taping. They gushed about a surprise guest—Patrick Swayze! The very show I should have attended featured the star of Dirty Dancing, Ghost, and Road House. It was too much to bear, and I couldn’t help but feel that Oprah’s universe was against me.
I tried to remind myself that it could have been worse; at least it wasn’t Oprah’s Favorite Things. Still, the sting of missing Patrick Swayze was hard to shake.
But I hold onto hope. One day, I will meet Oprah, and I promise to keep my excitement in check—though I can’t guarantee I won’t jump on a couch in pure joy.
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In summary, the journey to meet Oprah was filled with hope, excitement, and ultimately disappointment. While I missed the chance to see her and Patrick Swayze, the experience reminded me of the importance of perseverance and the possibility of future encounters.