YOU DONT SUCCEED WITH ALMOST

You Don’t Succeed With Almost

Jake stood in front of his tiny, cluttered desk, staring at the glowing screen of his laptop. He had just received another rejection email, the subject line as familiar as it was painful: Thank you for your submission, but we’ve chosen another candidate. His fingers hovered above the keys, not knowing whether to respond or simply shut the laptop and walk away.

Almost. He was so close. But always, always almost. He’d spent years writing, pouring his heart into stories that he felt could change the world, but the world just didn’t seem interested. He’d sent his latest manuscript to dozens of literary agents, and each time he received a polite rejection, their words equally polite but equally empty: “Great story, but not quite what we’re looking for.”

He slumped into his chair, running a hand through his hair. “What the hell am I doing wrong?” he muttered to himself. “Why does it always have to be almost?”

His phone buzzed on the desk, snapping him from his self-loathing. It was a message from his older sister, Sara.

Hey, how’s the writing going?

Jake took a deep breath and typed a quick reply: Same as always. Rejected. Again.

A few seconds later, his phone buzzed again.

Jake, you gotta stop thinking like that. Almost is better than nothing, right? You’re still in the game. You’ve got to keep pushing.

He chuckled bitterly and stared at the screen. Easy for you to say. You’ve got a steady job. You’re not constantly getting rejected.

He didn’t expect a reply right away, but within minutes, his phone buzzed again.

True, I do have a steady job. But remember when you almost didn’t get into that writing program? You were one of the last people chosen. Almost. And now look where you are. You’ve got a manuscript. You’ve got talent. Don’t let ‘almost’ make you quit.

Jake stared at the message for a long time, her words echoing in his head. He remembered how he felt when he first got into that prestigious writing program. He had barely made the cut, one of the last to be selected. At the time, almost felt like failure. But he had pushed through, hadn’t he? And now he had a completed manuscript, something many aspiring writers only dreamt of.

The thing about almost was that it always came with a feeling of failure. But as Sara pointed out, maybe almost wasn’t a curse. Maybe it was a sign that he wasn’t done yet, that he was still fighting, still moving forward.

He pulled the manuscript back up on his screen, reading the opening lines. It wasn’t perfect, but it never had been. Nothing in life was ever perfect. Maybe almost didn’t mean “not good enough.” Maybe it meant “just getting started.”

Jake typed a quick response to his sister: I guess almost isn’t the same as never.

A few minutes later, Sara replied. Exactly. Keep going, Jake. Almost is better than not trying at all.

As he read the message, Jake felt something inside him shift. It wasn’t that he was suddenly convinced his manuscript would get published, but he was finally beginning to see the truth in Sara’s words. Almost wasn’t a failure—it was an indicator that he was still moving, still trying, still dreaming.

He leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and exhaled slowly. The road to success wasn’t linear. It was full of bumps and detours, full of almosts. But Jake was done with seeing almost as a dead end. He could see it now for what it was: a step in the right direction, no matter how small.

A soft knock on the door broke his thoughts.

“Jake? You still alive in there?” his roommate, Max, called out from the hallway.

Jake grinned, standing up to open the door. “Yeah, I’m here. Just getting some work done.”

“Alright, well, when you’re done, we’re heading to that new brewery down the street,” Max said. “You deserve a break.”

Jake nodded. “Sounds good. Just need to finish this one thing first.”

Max gave him a thumbs-up before heading back down the hall. Jake turned back to his laptop, his fingers ready to start typing again. He wasn’t sure what would happen next. He didn’t know if this manuscript would be the one that landed him a deal, or if he’d be stuck in “almost” for another year.

But one thing was clear: almost wasn’t the end. It was just the beginning of something bigger.

He cracked his knuckles and began to type.

The next few weeks were a whirlwind of edits, new submissions, and the occasional rejection, but Jake had finally learned something important: almost wasn’t a failure. It was part of the process. And sometimes, the almostes were the moments that mattered most.

Eventually, after months of submissions, Jake received an email with a subject line that made his heart race: We would love to offer you representation. It was his first big step toward success. But as he stared at the screen, his heart didn’t leap in excitement—no, it swelled with something deeper: gratitude for all the almosts that had brought him here.