Crushed by urgency. That’s where I’m at. If you really want to know.

            I make fists to force my fingers not to share too much. The world I lived in as a teen was one of silence, yet this world is so full of noise. Endless, reckless noise. Everybody is a hero and everyone shares a stage and a spotlight. Sometimes, I just want to run back in time to those silent days.

            Sometimes.

            I awake and go to bed living the dream. And I try not to forget. I try to remind myself this is what I wanted to do, this is what I love to do. And I still love it. And I’m getting better. And there’s another little nugget of information regarding my writing journey that I haven’t shared but that I know—without a doubt—has helped me. That has suddenly made me much better. Overnight. Just like that. But yeah. Whatever.

            The frustrating industry hasn’t changed, yet the world around it has skyrocketed into spaces nobody could have imagined or dreamed. I have watched in the middle, a pawn moved around by unseen forces. Every now and then, I manage to capture another piece in the game. But mostly, I just move ahead, into another box, into another space, surrounded by kings and queens and rooks and knights. Yet I stay on the board.

            Somehow, I still remain.

            Everyday I learn a little about myself and what I’m supposed to do and what I wish I could have done ten or twenty years ago. I don’t carry the regrets—I’d get nowhere weighed down by them all. What I choose to do is look at all the wonder and joy surrounding me.

            Many days I’m awakened by little laughter. I see the whirl of three little ladies every morning and noon and night. I feel like they’re stuck with me in this canoe in the middle of the ocean. Suddenly I’m living out my personal Life of Pi with toddlers replacing the tiger. I have to figure out how to get to shore not for myself but for the princesses letting me steer for them.

            I try—I really do—to hear the praise. Not a day goes by when I don’t hear something, yet it often sounds like compliments hurled across the Grand Canyon. I hear the words yet they quickly disappear.

            I sit here and honestly say that things have never looked so optimistic, so positive, so possible. A future full of marvel, full of beauty, full. Yet the coin often falls to the other side and reminds me how far I have to go, and how tough the ground has become, and how ugly and awful things seem to be.

            Those whispers of doubt that demons love to lie and let linger.

            So I paddle. I battle the elements. And I wonder if I’m half insane, half delirious.

            Yet every now and then, I’m in the middle of something, a glorious storm of words and story, and I know that I’m supposed to be here. I’m supposed to be here letting the wind whip my hair and letting the rain pound on my face and letting the Heavens test. I stand firm and know I’m supposed to be here.

            Because there’s a message I’m supposed to be talking about. There’s a theme I’m supposed to be sharing. As the non-brand that I am, there’s something I keep coming back to, time and time again.

            When I look out I can see it.

            When I close my eyes I can feel it.

            When I see those passing my way I can realize it.

            Hope.

            A horizontal and a vertical line.

            An intersection of love.

            A beautiful cross.

            I can’t tell you what will happen tomorrow. I just hope I hear those little footsteps in the morning and hear the laughter following. Then it will all start again. Possibility. Potential. Promise.

            Amidst the utter chaos.

            Amidst the urgency.

            That’s what’s happening. That’s what I’m up to. That’s what fills me.

            But if you see me, I’ll laugh and make a joke and be a goof and then move on. I’ll move on to the pages where I can be me again, and I can do what I need to do.