Ironic, isn’t it, the way the pendulum swings? Most of the time, we barely even notice the back-and-forth rhythm as our days tilt from positive to negative and back again, teasing with blurred glimpses of a “normal” middle ground while dragging us repeatedly to either side. An annoying traffic jam here, a miraculous run of green lights there, when all we really want is a spot in the shade to enjoy a moment of blissful neutrality with a perfectly hot cup of tea.
And then there are those times when the pendulum grows violent, contrasting the bumper crops of summer with the harshest of winters and sunny skies with rolling clouds in the distance. Yin and yang. Balance and counter-balance. Or, as I’ve come to know it, July. It’s been a month now since the publication of my first book breathed to life a dream I never imagined could become reality. But with the weightlessness of elation came an inevitable anchor of darkness to restore my perspective.
I have to believe there is purpose in this balance—a lesson of sorts, buried between the lines. I have my own theories on what it might be, if you’ll indulge me a dive into the diary, but I’d love to hear your thoughts…
I started with a dream. But then, don’t we all?
Since, it’s been months of toiling and backbreaking labor to lay the groundwork for an experience unlike any other. Exhausting myself completely, with little or nothing to show for it but the satisfaction of self and the hopes of one day sharing that pleasure.
Propelled forward by an ever-present reverie whispering softly in my ear, I dismantled a jaded soul, busted and fractured by the cruelties of life.
From the pieces, I rebuilt something new, something resolute. I laid down the lifeline and the hard-won excuses, then looked back to catch a glimmer in the rubble. Shining back, once buried under the burdens of expectation and the tarnished fade of years, I found a shard of self-determination, which I’ve carried closely ever since. I would write—passionately, fiercely, even whimsically—as I’ve always wished I could, not only for myself but for the indulgence of every new friend who might stop to pay the honor of a read.
Early on, I began to question my own sanity in pursuing this quest, as though I had no right daring to believe I possessed something special and unique to offer. Was I being arrogant in my presumption? Or overly bold in hoping others might embrace this new world of mine, crafted just within the shadow’s edge?