Dear fear of the unknown,

I’ve put your name in lowercase to foreshadow how small of an impact you’ll have on my life. I’m sure you’ve frightened many a perfectionist and inferiority-complex ridden individuals in your time, and this has included me. I’m sure you’d love the assurance of my going down memory lane and telling you how I’ve feared you since I was a little girl–how you began as a fear of darkness and later resembled something like a terror of failure, to now, when the future shouts at me from an unknown expanse and I can’t see what’s in front of me. Now, how I’m reminded of my childhood self again, how I recognize that familiar feeling creeping up inside of me.

I thought you should know my company let me go recently. After receiving a near perfect evaluation on my performance review for the seventh year in a row, my boss told me my position was being eliminated. He slid the review across his desk and said it was mine to keep after giving me the news in the most sincere way he could. Even though he told me it wasn’t my fault, there wasn’t a way around the difficulty of that conversation and the feeling of being phased out.

I thought you should know you haunted me that first week after receiving the news and recurrently after, as I’m hurled into the deep end of an unknown ocean. I find myself scared of the future, this fear taking the shape of a broken job market full of horror stories from others seeking employment. Not being able to see what’s on the other side of this door frightens me.

They’ve said to keep in mind I’m not the only one going through these kinds of things. They’ve said to remember that there are others experiencing just as bad, if not much worse. But what good does that do me when I’m alone in my room at night trying to fall asleep to the soundtrack of my life? What good does that do me when I’m sitting by myself in the spare bedroom of my home in the light of a blazing afternoon, as the day quickly shifts and the sun disappearing from the sky tells me I’ve run out of time. I should pack up and try again tomorrow.

But then I look out at the birds soaring in the soft blue sky, hovering around the sunlight. I see them gliding on the wind with their wings outspread as far as they can go, and, deeper than all of the fear and worry and anxiety, I have an even deeper feeling that I’m going to be okay. I’ve got a weight that’s more like an anchor inside me, never weighing me down, but in the midst of my most untamable emotions, holds me steady. And if moving steadily forward means first being grounded and stable, what I’m tethered to–or who–keeps me in His hands, holding the universe and my world in His nail-torn palms.

Where He is, is where I’m supposed to be, and I think I’m going to be okay.

Because maybe, just maybe, what waits on the other side of this door isn’t terror or fright, but wonder. Could it be that this fog hides something more breathtaking than I could ever think of? That someday soon I’ll discover it is little more than the cloak that covers the beautiful unknown before it’s revealed in all its glory?

The truth is, I know the ending of this story. Because it’s already written.

And if I stop for a moment and look around, I can see there is someone else beside me in this furnace, the same One who halts the stormy seas with His voice, who, when He calls out to the wind and waves and tells them to be still, they must cease. The One the fiercest storm bows to, even the storm of my own emotions.

His name is Jesus, and He’s already won this victory for me. All that’s left to do is walk forward and meet it in the future.

Sincerely and never yours,

( 90% style score)

Dear reader,

It was July in Orlando, Florida. The summer was at a peak, and my family was spending the day as it’s meant to be spent during this wonderfully torrid time of year–in water. Give me a reason to leave my vacation responder on to go floating off in an aquamarine pool somewhere, and we have ourselves the making of a great day. You see, we would be splashing around in one of Orlando’s premier water parks, Volcano Bay. I’d been anticipating this trip for a while now, and it was finally here.

We packed our belongings, crowded into the car, and made our way to the park. After missing an exit, finally finding the entrance, parking, getting on a bus, and navigating past check-ins, we were finally in.

Shortly after entering, if you walk a little ways forward and then look to the center of the park, you’ll see the steaming volcano that towers high above all the attractions. It houses the most formidable slide in the park–the Ko’okiri Body Plunge. This 70-degree,125-foot drop sends you into a fall that is wildly uncomfortable, yet at the same time, equally thrilling. I’d conquered it the year before by my lonesome, but this time, I had company in my two brothers. We used our wristbands to reserve our spots in the digital line and spent the day exploring the many adventures of the park.

My family and I had a blast rushing through the rapid river in our life jackets, winding through bright-colored slides in our water tubes, and tasting the delectable delights that the Whakawaiwai Eats offered us in pizza, hot dogs, and my personal favorite, jerk shrimp mac and cheese. I spent the day glancing at my band that gave an hours-long countdown, until the alert finally told me it was time to march up the volcano.

We ran pretty much the entire way up the unending flights of steps. After getting a little workout in that left me breathless at the top, I was just grateful to be there, dear reader–heavy breathing, hair frizzing and all.

As I moved closer to the front of the line and watched others nervously climb into the shuttle to launch into a multi-story descent, I became nervous. And when my brothers and I were finally next, my stomach was fluttering uncontrollably with butterflies. I thought about turning back, but in the midst of this anxiousness, I also couldn’t help but be excited.

When it was finally my turn, I stepped up to climb into the shuttle, stood with my feet criss-crossed in front of one another and my arms in a similar position, Black Panther style. I could see the people in the wave pool below me who were smaller now. The height was higher than it looked from the bottom, and even though I was a long way from the beginning of those steps when I first climbed up, I kind of wanted to go back to them.

But instead, I closed my eyes and yelled a “Whoo! Come on!” while waiting to drop. I heard the sound of drums from somewhere inside the shuttle, and as they increased in speed to build anticipation, my heart was pumping. I leaned further back against the slide and the stream of downward rushing water as I waited for the drop door to open underneath me in what felt like an eternity. Suddenly I felt the ground give way, and then I dropped.

The fall felt as terrible as you can imagine and came to an end just as it grew too intense. I felt myself plateau and the butterflies disappear, and in a matter of seconds, the feeling of the pool water rushing to my feet at the end of the slide told me it was over. It was done. I could enjoy the rest of my day.

I opened my eyes to the sight of crystal teal water glittering in the sunshine, and saw my family waiting for me and cheering me on. After brushing myself off from the adrenaline and exclaiming how crazy the ride down was, I joined them. Not long after, I saw my little brother come down the slide after me, then my older brother after that. It felt good to cheer them both on.

The feeling I had was unmatched for the rest of the trip. My favorite memory of 2024 wasn’t just conquering a slide I was afraid of, but doing it with people I love. Because it was great passing the finish line myself the year before, but even greater to see my brothers cross it with me this time around.

Turns out reaching new heights, or in this case, new depths, is that much sweeter with company.

Always learning,
Danielle