The Phone Call That Shifted My Tide

There’s something about phone calls that feels inherently dramatic. Maybe it’s the way they cut through the carefully curated calm of our lives—the ding of a missed text pales next to the adrenaline surge of a ringing phone. But the truth is, most of my calls don’t warrant the heightened emotion. Half of them are quick chats with my dad about the best organic avocados, and the other half are appointment reminders from my dentist. That is, except for one call—one that I can still feel echoing in my bones.

I was standing barefoot on the worn wooden floor of my tiny home office in La Jolla. My desk was cluttered with empty coffee mugs and stray sticky notes that read things like “REVISE!” or “EMAIL BACK TODAY.” The January sunlight slanted in, warm but not quite enough to justify the tank top I was wearing. I was midway through typing up a piece about sustainable seafood options for a freelance gig, wondering if anyone actually cared about line-caught fish. That’s when my phone buzzed, jolting me out of my overly critical spiral. It was an unknown number, but something about it—fate or dumb luck—made me pick up.

“Hi, is this Julianne Santos?” The voice was clear, professional, and just a smidge intimidating.

“Yes,” I sputtered, fully expecting a robocall about extending my car’s warranty.

“This is Rachel from Pacific Press,” she said. Pacific Press. The same ornately-lettered name I’d stared at on countless book spines. My heart lurched into my ribcage. “We’ve been reading your essays. Have you considered turning them into a book?”

Answering the Call (Literally and Figuratively)

Let me pause the story for a second. Because if life were a rom-com, this would be one of those pivotal moments where the protagonist freezes, letting the weight of their big break sink in. There’d be sweeping orchestral music, maybe a montage of all the years of hard work it took to get to this point. In reality? I blinked at my desk cactus and said something between a high-pitched squeak and a “yes.” Not exactly Oscar material.

Rachel went on to explain that my essays—those personal, sea-sprayed reflections about tide pools and tangled relationships—had caught the attention of their editorial team. She asked if I’d considered expanding them into a collection. I fumbled out some answer about balancing day jobs and creative work, casually omitting that I usually wrote while wearing pajama bottoms and eating peanut butter straight from the jar.

But the truth was, I had considered it. In fact, I’d fantasized about it. Just like we all secretly fantasize about that dream text from a crush or the romantic airport confession scene. But sitting there, the fantasy felt laughable. A book sounded like something other people created—people with MFA degrees or Pinterest-worthy writing setups.

Yet here was Rachel telling me otherwise.

The Self-Doubt Spiral (It’s Real, and It’s Relatable)

Here’s the thing you don’t realize about “yes” until it’s staring you down: it’s terrifying. When we dream about the big calls—whether they’re about careers, love, or last-minute wedding dates—we forget how vulnerable it is to turn them into reality. Saying yes cracks you open and shows the world you’re just a human with messy drafts and too many coffee mugs.

After that call, I went full spiral. What if they changed their mind? What if I didn’t deliver? I started rereading my past essays with all the hawk-eyed judgment of Simon Cowell in his prime. Every metaphor felt trite. Every sentence sprawling. Maybe Pacific Press was under some kind of spell when they reached out.

I’ll admit it: I almost didn’t follow through. I almost clung to my safe freelance gigs about pelagic species and left it at that. But then I remembered the ocean. (I know, predictable for a sea-loving writer, but hear me out.)

The ocean changes constantly—waves swelling and retreating, tides pulling against the gravity of the moon. It’s messy, unpredictable, and bound by forces bigger than itself. And yet it’s alive with possibility. The reefs don’t refuse to grow coral because the conditions aren’t perfect. They adapt. I decided I could, too.

The Takeaway: Be Brave Enough to Pick Up

That call from Pacific Press wasn’t just about a book deal—it was about showing up for myself when the stakes felt high. Since then, I’ve started thinking of life in terms of those moments: the ones that demand we answer the phone, say yes, or lean into the discomfort of our own potential.

And honestly? Life isn't just about one call or one big break. There are smaller calls every day—the text you send to revive a fizzling friendship, the voicemail you leave after a misunderstanding, the FaceTime request to someone new you're still too shy to define. Every connection, romantic or otherwise, is an opportunity to pick up and let something new unfold.

Sometimes, those connections will feel like rejection waves breaking against a rocky shore. Other times, they’ll feel like that first, silky dive into warm Pacific water. And unless you let yourself in, you’ll never know which one’s waiting.

So here’s my advice: Be bold enough to answer the phone, whether it’s an unknown number or that slightly nerve-wracking “We need to talk” text. The shore will always be there, but sometimes, the tide’s worth chasing.

Closing Thoughts

That one call kicked off a chapter (literally) of my life that I never saw coming. And isn’t that the beauty of all our best relationships and opportunities? None of them come with detailed manuals or absolute certainty. But if you’re willing to pick up—even when you’re barefoot in a tank top on a chilly morning—they might just have the power to change you.

So whether you’re waiting for a spark with someone new or grappling with an opportunity that seems bigger than you, here’s your nudge: take the call, send the text, and ride the wave. You might just surprise yourself.