Walking the Tightrope

Walking the Tightrope
Finding My Rhythm in a World That Keeps Moving

When I was ten years old, my school held a "Dream Career Day." Everyone had to dress up as the person they wanted to be when they grew up. Some kids came dressed as astronauts, others as firefighters, doctors, or singers. I came wearing two different name tags—one read “Engineer,” and the other said “Author.” My classmates laughed and asked if I’d forgotten to choose just one. But I remember standing there, proud and certain, saying, “Why can’t I be both?”

I didn’t know the word "multihyphenate" back then, but I was already one.

That day was a small preview of a bigger theme that would follow me through life—the struggle to balance everything I love. Back then, I believed I could do anything. But as I got older, that belief began to clash with the pressures of adult life.

The Myth of “Choosing One Thing”

We’re often told to pick a lane, choose a major, stick to one job, one hobby, one identity. “Jack of all trades, master of none,” they warn. But what if you’re passionate about more than one thing? What if you’re equally drawn to the logic of science and the freedom of art?

As I grew up, life became louder. Bills needed paying. Time grew shorter. Dreams had to be scheduled between responsibilities. I worked office jobs during the day and wrote quietly at night. I couldn’t let go of my creative side, even if no one was reading. It felt like I was constantly walking a tightrope—trying not to lose myself on either end.

Learning to Juggle

Publishing on Vocal became one of my first real steps toward sharing my writing with the world. But I quickly realized something: writing for Vocal wasn’t just about putting words on a page. It meant brainstorming, editing, rewriting, promoting, engaging with readers—and all while managing my real-world responsibilities.

Some nights I’d come home from work exhausted, thinking I’d just scroll through my phone and call it a day. But then I’d get that little spark—an idea, a sentence, a title—and I couldn’t ignore it. So I’d open my laptop, just to “write for 10 minutes,” and end up writing for two hours.

My friends didn’t always understand. “Why don’t you just take a break?” they’d ask. But what they didn’t see was that writing was my break—my form of therapy, my place of peace.

The Pressure of Perfection

Balancing isn’t always elegant. Sometimes it’s messy. There are days I publish something I’m proud of, and other days I stare at a blinking cursor, frustrated. There are weeks when I can write three stories and still have energy, and other weeks when I can barely manage a paragraph.

The hardest part is giving yourself permission to not be perfect in either world. I’ve missed deadlines. I’ve let dishes pile up. I’ve skipped social events. But I’ve also written stories that connected with strangers, won contests, and built confidence I never had before.

Redefining Success

I used to think success meant choosing one path and walking it perfectly. But now I believe success looks different for everyone. For me, it’s about finding harmony, not perfection. It’s about making space for all the pieces of myself—the one who works hard during the day and the one who writes until midnight.

Some people climb ladders. I build bridges—between passions, between responsibilities, between dreams and reality.

Final Thoughts

If you’re like me, walking your own tightrope, trying to hold on to everything you love while keeping your balance, let me tell you something:

You’re not doing it wrong. You’re just living fully.

Being a writer doesn’t mean you need to quit your day job. Having a stable job doesn’t mean you can’t be creative. You don’t have to shrink yourself into a single box just because the world says it’s easier to understand that way.

Balance isn’t a fixed position—it’s a constant dance. And the more you learn to move with the rhythm of your life, the better you get at staying on your feet.

So here I am, still writing, still working, still dreaming. Maybe I never became the engineer I once imagined, but I did become an author. And every time I hit "publish" on Vocal, I feel that same proud certainty I felt as a ten-year-old with two name tags.

Because even now, I’m still both.