In January of last year, I scribbled on a sheet of paper the idea of writing a book about life from the point of view of someone in need of resilience and a second chance and promptly placed it in the back of a desk drawer. Then the pandemic hit, and by March, my idea moved from the back of the drawer to the top of my desk in Austin, Texas.
The idea started to grow into a manuscript that eventually got placed into a basket of interesting but untimely ideas. Rediscovering it this last month felt like stumbling upon scuba gear in the garage in need of a second chance. I was the one getting a second chance. I don't want to oversell the redemptive power of writing, but damn, when I put that manuscript in front of me and started to read it for the first time after several months, it was like I just dawned scuba gear in an open sea of change.