How One Stupid Thought Ruined My Life
Hey Book Launchers family, Remember me? Eric? The guy who used to show up with 3 times a day to drop a comment or share ? I've been MIA for a few weeks, and I owe you an explanation that's equal parts apology and cautionary tale. It started with a question "maybe you weren't called to be a leader" And with random thought, my brain did that thing. You know the thing. That writer's curse where instead of thinking "huh, interesting" like a normal human, my brain went: "BUT WAIT. What if leadership isn't about leading at all? What would that look like? Why? If it wasn't that, what could it be?" The hook. The thought that wouldn't let go. I have this delightful quirk where I torture myself with "what if" questions when trying to understand something. It's like intellectual quicksand—the more I struggle, the deeper I sink. Most of the time, I exhaust the thought in a few days and move on like a functional adult. Not this time. This time, the universe apparently downloaded the entire operating manual for human consciousness directly into my skull. Suddenly, I had to write this thing. Not wanted to. HAD to. Thirty thousand words later, (just crossed the half way mark) I don't even recognize my own writing. The tone, the voice, the perspective—it's like someone hijacked my laptop and decided to channel Rumi meets Malcolm Gladwell. I'm reading sentences like "once you've seen what needs to die in you, you can't go back to living like it should survive" and thinking, "Who the heck wrote this?" I've apparently become the kind of writer who uses phrases like "equal parts unsettling and clarifying" without irony. I catch myself writing about ladders and wrong walls, and I've used the word "journey" more times than a yoga instructor at a wellness retreat. The worst part? I can't stop. This project has me by the throat. I wake up thinking about it. I dream in chapter outlines. I've started having philosophical conversations with my coffee maker. So that's where I've been. Held hostage by my own brain, writing in a voice that isn't mine but somehow is more me than I've ever been.