No one ever mentioned how teetering on the verge of something wonderful feels an awful lot like teetering on the verge of disaster. You’d think those two events would have completely different feelings involved…not the same soul-freezing dread, pit in your stomach, and paralyzing ice moving up and down your limbs, doing a darn good job of impersonating a heart attack.
It’s a grammar thing, I suppose. Parallel sentence structure: “Teetering on the verge…” could just as easily be filled in with “…of disaster” as “…of amazingly wonderful chunks of goodness”.
I saw an inspiring online quote the other day that said, “When we walk to the edge of all the light we have and take the step into the darkness of the unknown, we must believe one of two things will happen—there will be something solid for us to stand on, or we will be taught to fly.” (Patrick Overton) I guess I’m fighting my cynical side—I’m thinking there’s a third option. Guess that’s why he says we must believe.
Some days more than others, it’s hard to stay positive, stay hopeful, and beat the paranoia back.
Trying very hard to believe.