Thoughts on My Birthday

A Sunday Supplemental

I’m indie writer Teague de La Plaine, author of the bestselling Sea at Sunrise and other stories. This is my weekly newsletter, where I talk about writing and self-publishing in addition to my own life. I keep the newsletter free, because I prefer you spend your money on my books.

As I celebrate the conclusion of my 51st year, a milestone that brings with it a certain reflective perspective, I find myself drawn to a universal experience that touches us all at some point: the feeling of not being chosen. It's a sensation that transcends age, profession, and personal circumstances, and it manifests in countless ways, from the playground to the boardroom, from romantic relationships to professional advancements.

This feeling of being overlooked, of not quite measuring up in a given moment, can be a potent mix of disappointment, self-doubt, and even a touch of indignation. It's a reminder that life, despite our best efforts and aspirations, doesn't always unfold precisely as we envision. We invest our time, our energy, our hopes, and sometimes, despite all that, the outcome isn't what we desired. Perhaps it's the job promotion we were certain was ours, the team selection we narrowly missed, the social invitation that never arrived, or the artistic opportunity that went to someone else.

Yet, this experience, however uncomfortable, also holds a unique power. It forces us to confront our resilience, to re-evaluate our priorities, and to discover new avenues for growth. It can be a catalyst for introspection, prompting us to ask what truly matters to us and how we define success beyond external validation. In the aftermath of not being picked, we have the opportunity to acknowledge the sting, process the emotions, and then, crucially, to choose our response. Do we succumb to bitterness, or do we use it as fuel for future endeavors? Do we let it diminish our self-worth, or do we recognize that one missed opportunity does not define our overall value or potential?

Ultimately, "not getting picked" is a part of the human journey. It’s a recurring theme in the narrative of our lives, teaching us humility, adaptability, and the importance of self-reliance. It reminds us that our worth isn't solely determined by external approval, and that sometimes, the greatest lessons are learned not from what we gain, but from what we are momentarily denied. As I enter my 52nd year, I carry this understanding not as a burden, but as a valuable piece of wisdom, ready to navigate whatever comes next, chosen or not.

Recently, I experienced the sting of not being selected for promotion. In that exact moment, you feel the door close—sometimes gently, almost imperceptibly, other times with a jarring thud that echoes in your ears. You stand there for a beat, your hand still lingering on the handle, a phantom weight from the door that just swung shut, wondering what exactly just happened. A wave of disappointment, perhaps even a touch of self-doubt, washes over you. You replay conversations, dissect decisions, and question where you might have gone wrong. The path you envisioned, the trajectory you planned, suddenly seems to veer off into an unknown direction. And then… you look up. Slowly, hesitantly, you raise your gaze. You notice there’s a subtle light spilling in from somewhere else, a warm glow that hints at possibility. Another door, one you hadn't even perceived in your momentary desolation, has quietly, almost miraculously, swung open. It's a reminder that setbacks aren't always dead ends, but often detours to new and unexpected opportunities.

Life often presents itself as a series of missed opportunities, each one seemingly leading to frustration and a sense of being stalled. Imagine a sailor, anchored firmly in a harbor, watching with growing impatience as the ideal current slips by, leaving them behind. The clock ticks, the favorable winds shift, and the feeling of being trapped by circumstance becomes almost unbearable. There's a nagging regret for what might have been, a wistful gaze at the receding horizon where another ship now sails freely.

However, the universe, in its infinite wisdom, often has a larger, more intricate plan. That missed tide, which seemed to carry with it the promise of swift passage, might have been a deceptive current, leading not to open seas but directly into the heart of a violent squall. The storm, unseen from the tranquil harbor, could have brought with it raging winds, tumultuous waves, and the very real threat of capsizing. The frustration of being stuck, of having to wait, was in fact a hidden blessing, a silent protection from an unseen danger.

Photo by Markos Mant on Unsplash

And then, just as despair begins to settle in, a new tide begins to rise, gentle and promising. This is the tide that wasn't initially seen, the one that patiently awaited its moment. It slowly, almost imperceptibly, lifts the anchor, allowing the vessel to glide out of the harbor's confines. The initial frustration melts away, replaced by a profound sense of relief and an unexpected surge of hope. As the boat breaks free into the vast expanse of open water, the sun, which had been hidden behind a veil of clouds, suddenly bursts forth. Its golden rays dance across the waves, transforming the once grey and foreboding sea into a shimmering canvas of light and promise. This new journey, born from a delayed start, is not just a passage but a revelation, a testament to the unexpected beauty and serendipity that often emerge from what initially appears to be a setback. The missed tide was not a loss, but a rerouting, a redirection towards a path that, though unforeseen, proves to be infinitely more beautiful and secure.

That's the profound, often overlooked gift embedded within the word "no." It's not merely a negation, but a powerful catalyst, forcing us to relinquish the autopilot trajectory we so often adopt in life. When a door seemingly slams shut, our initial instinct might be frustration or disappointment, but the true wisdom lies in pausing. This forced halt compels a crucial re-evaluation: What new avenues, previously obscured by our tunnel vision, are now illuminated? What alternative paths, perhaps more aligned with our true purpose or a different, unforeseen opportunity, have just materialized in the wake of this closure? The "no" acts as a pivotal moment, demanding that we shift our perspective from what was lost to what can now be discovered, transforming a perceived ending into an unexpected beginning.

For me, this new path isn't a sudden detour but the culmination of a journey I’ve been charting quietly in the background for years. Now, what was once a faint outline has been lit up like a runway at night, its destination as clear and inviting as gin-clear Bahamian waters. The exit strategy from the conventional is no longer a hopeful whisper but a well-defined trajectory.

It’s the vibrant, turquoise track leading directly toward a life retired from the rat race, spent at sea with my family. This isn't just about escaping; it’s about embracing a new reality where writing full-time becomes my primary endeavor, allowing me the freedom to craft stories and explore ideas without the constraints of a clock or a boss. Our days will be steered not by the unforgiving demands of a calendar, but by the ancient wisdom of the compass, guiding us across open waters, letting the rhythms of the ocean dictate our pace and our destination. This is more than a dream; it’s a meticulously planned adventure into a life of purpose, exploration, and profound connection.

The countdown is on: 45 months until we cast off!

And with that, a closing drum roll… My next StarForce Recondo book, Unlucky, is set to release this month! Fans of the series can look forward to more thrilling adventures, intense action, and the continued development of beloved characters. We'll be sharing more details about the release date, cover art, and early reviews very soon. Stay tuned for exciting updates!

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