Sometimes one feeling doesn’t fit in one container. These two books were written years apart, but they came from the same place.
Some feelings arrive too big to carry in one hand.
Too shapeless to name.
Too persistent to stay quiet.
I tried to write about that once, and it became The Quiet Between Lightning.
I tried again years later, and it became The Art of Being Almost.
They are different books, but they live in the same emotional house. Both were written in the aftermath of almosts—almost choices, almost goodbyes, almost lives. Both explore what it means to stand on the edge of something and hesitate. To want clarity but cling to the fog.
⚡ The Quiet Between Lightning
This book began in a season when nothing had happened yet—but everything was about to. I could feel change humming under the floorboards, but I didn’t know what it was or what it wanted from me. So I wrote. I wrote about thresholds, about how sometimes the pause before the strike holds more tension than the lightning itself.
One of the early lines still hits me when I read it:
“Some storms never arrive, but we live like they’re coming anyway.”
Writing this book helped me name the anxiety of anticipation. The weight of standing still while everything inside you shifts.
💔 The Art of Being Almost
This one came later. The storm had passed, but I hadn’t moved. I was still standing in the place where I could have chosen something different—and didn’t. This book is about the echo of indecision, the ache of roads not taken, the lives we don’t live but carry anyway.
The line I wrote at 2 a.m. and never changed:
“Some of us aren’t afraid of choosing wrong—we’re afraid of choosing at all.”
The Art of Being Almost is messier, sharper. Where Lightning observes, Almost interrogates. But both came from the same wound: the fear of becoming something I didn’t mean to become just because I didn’t make a move.
🕯 Why these books still matter to me
They were written in different years, but they speak to each other in ways I didn’t expect. One book holds the moment before the shift; the other, the grief of not shifting. And both are honest in a way I couldn’t be out loud.
If you’ve ever stood at a crossroads and walked away from it entirely—if you’ve ever delayed your life for fear of breaking it—these books are for you. Not as instruction, but as reflection.
Not a cure.
Just a mirror.
