For six long years, I envisioned signing with a literary agent—the first step toward my dream of publication. I’ve penned five books, or maybe it’s six, and faced countless rejections from literary agents, each one a harsh reminder of the uphill battle I was fighting. Rejection became my norm, a familiar companion that was anything but pleasant. But then, something shifted.
Recently, I received the elusive “yes” I had been longing for. The email I had fantasized about, complete with sparkles and glitter, landed in my inbox. I imagined celebrating with a jubilant shout, but instead, I closed my laptop and made lunch for my kids, as if nothing monumental had just occurred. Later, when I shared the news with family and friends, their excitement was palpable, yet I found myself downplaying it, which made me question my own muted reaction.
Why the Reservation?
Why was I so reserved? Perhaps it’s because we’re currently in a world that feels muted—a time when joy and celebration seem subdued. Or maybe it’s the realization that moments we dream about often fall short of our expectations. Sadly, that email didn’t come with a flourish, and I’ve yet to see one that does.
But I think my subdued response stems from my past—a past marked by grief, loss, and the hard truth I learned two years ago: the things that bring us joy can vanish in an instant. A beautiful marriage can end despite our best efforts, leaving behind a void that aches deeply.
A Love Lost
I met my late husband, Jake, by chance on a dance floor shortly after college. What began as a night out turned into a life I never dared to dream of. Growing up with a father who vanished and a mother who worked tirelessly to support us, I never expected to find a love so deep. Our life together was a beautiful tapestry of laughter, arguments, and shared dreams—everything I had once thought unreachable.
Then, in a blink, that life was gone. I fell from the peak of my dreams, landing hard in a place where the stars felt impossibly distant. The truth I learned was sobering: the higher you climb, the harder the fall. There’s a certain safety in remaining at the base of your aspirations; you can’t lose what you don’t chase.
Fighting Back
Since that fall, I’ve fought my way back, sometimes catching glimpses of starlight. Yet, I remain cautious, staying well below the heights where I could risk another fall. Everything feels fragile and precarious now, leading me to question whether it’s even worth climbing.
Still, every thought of that email ignites a flicker of joy and hope that feels almost suffocating. Despite my fears, I find myself inching back up that mountain. I recall another lesson learned two years ago: sometimes, you don’t get a second chance at the things that scare you. While it’s understandable to pause and just survive, reaching for those dreams can offer moments of pure brilliance—moments that make the risk worthwhile.
The Fear of Celebration
I’m terrified to celebrate this achievement because it makes it real. It means I’ve reached a height where falling would hurt, and I’m already nursing old scars. But the truth is, if I do fall, I know I will rise again. And that knowledge alone is worth celebrating.
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Summary
The journey of pursuing dreams can be fraught with challenges and fears, especially when past experiences of loss create hesitation around celebrating successes. The author reflects on personal growth after landing a literary agent, grappling with the emotions tied to both triumph and fear of falling. Through resilience and hope, she acknowledges that while the risk of pain exists, the possibility of joy is worth the climb.