It’s quiet enough now to finally hear my own thoughts.
We are a month into 2026 and, with this new year, there has just been
so
much
noise.
I’m staring out at our frozen lake, lost in thought. Memories return half-formed of a cross-country skiing trip in the sixth grade, hot chocolate, but now there’s more hot chocolate and we’re skating on the Rideau Canal, and now the moon is out and it’s the first time we’ve seen the stars from here, and now it’s the first time I’ve seen the stars from the Southern Hemisphere and now I’m asking myself again what is out there anyway?
I read a news story about “a runaway black hole” this week.
That’s something that’s out there.
The mind wanders on and I’m back on earth marveling at how our little maple still has red and orange leaves on it.
“No thank you, winter,” it says. “I’m going to keep shining.”
And the mind continues to wander on.
I’m alone up here at the lake, casually sifting through the pages of The Creative Act by Rick Rubin as the fire crackles and the snowmobiles carve trigonometry problems into the fresh powder outside.
I’m practicing presence. I’m listening for my thoughts and letting them take me where they want to go instead of fitting them into a schedule, giving them time limits, word counts, no space to breathe.
I’m doing this today because, for the first time ever, a publication has said yes to one of my short stories. I just sent the agreement back a short while ago.
I don’t even know what colour green to use on my queries and submissions spreadsheet.
And so, ACT I, all forty-eight and a half years of it, comes to a close.
There’s no going back from here. I will no longer be “unpublished”.
I feel this year is going to be a big one. A lot is going to happen in ACT II.
It’s funny how much impact a single “yes” can have, isn’t it?
And now my thoughts are racing again around everything I want to do this year, all that I want to accomplish, and while I want to let my thoughts go wherever they want to go, I also want to encourage them to slow down, so maybe writing the next part of my story right now is not the right thing to be doing.
Maybe the right thing is to reflect for a moment and stare out this window and pay attention to this maple tree.
Because there it is, fighting against the elements, but every leaf is fighting its own individual battle as well, and if you look close enough, you’ll see that’s the story under the story.
And as my ACT II begins, that seems as good a place as any to start.