Some phone calls arrive like a meteor out of the clear blue sky, changing everything in a single ring. Others drag their feet, preceded by an anxious text—Can we talk later?—that lands like a cryptic movie trailer to your personal Armageddon. But the call that changed my life was neither of these. It was mundane, ordinary, dressed up as the kind of conversation you forget before you’ve even hung up. Until you don’t.
Close Encounters of the Unexpected Kind
It was a chilly November evening in Toronto. The kind where the cold air bites your cheeks and the sound of a hockey game echoes faintly from every bar you pass. I’d just come home from my part-time job at a bookstore, determined to spend the night editing a short story (read: watch reruns of Parks and Recreation and avoid my to-do list). My phone rang, breaking the reverie, and the name on the screen was my agent’s. Cue the ominous soundtrack.
Now, let me set the stage here. At this point, life was, shall we say, “fine.” I was scraping by as a freelance writer, relying on a rickety combination of artsy gigs and caffeine-fueled optimism. I’d written a novel—a scrappy little thing about urban disconnection—and while I wasn’t exactly brimming with unrealistic hope, I had sent it out to a few publishers. You know, just in case someone was in a reckless mood and decided they wanted to take a chance on a debut author who naively believed he could compete with Margaret Atwood on her home turf.
I answered the call without much thought. My agent’s voice came through, unusually buoyant. “Dan,” she said, pausing dramatically, “you’re not sitting down, are you?”
I wasn’t, but the sheer theatricality of her tone made me slump onto my secondhand couch anyway. “What’s up?” I asked, already bracing for either ludicrously good or devastatingly bad news—no middle ground with this kind of setup.
“They want the book.”
There was no preamble. No drumroll. Just four words that instantly rearranged my understanding of myself. At first, I didn’t even react, unsure if she meant the book (i.e., my book) or, like, some random manual on Toronto flora and fauna. But no. She meant my book—this quirky thing I had nursed to life like an overwatered houseplant—and a Canadian publisher wanted it on shelves. In bookstores. Where strangers could pick it up and then immediately return it if they were unimpressed.
Flirting with the “What Ifs”
After I hung up, the reality of the situation slowly cascaded down on me, like a rom-com montage played backward (confusion first, tears second, joy buried somewhere underneath). For years, writing had always been the quiet, personal corner of my world. I wrote because I had to, because it felt like the only way to make sense of the chaos around me. Actually publishing that work? It felt like proposing marriage after a few casual dates—and suddenly wondering if your partner maybe didn’t find you that charming after all.
As the reality set in, my insecurities flooded in too. Would people hate it? Would they laugh (not in the good way)? How would I handle negative reviews—would I read them obsessively or pretend they didn’t exist? I had flashbacks to every awkward conversation I’ve ever had on a first date, overanalyzing every detail in search of validation: Did you like me? Were my jokes too weird? Did I talk about myself too much?
The truth is, putting yourself out there in any way feels like a first date on steroids. Whether you’re writing a book, declaring your feelings, or showing off your questionable karaoke skills, the fear of rejection never quite leaves us. It’s a nerve-wracking cocktail of hope and terror—and, yet, it’s how we grow. (Well, that and avoiding tequila shots before pressing send on life-changing emails.)
Lessons from the Call
While I didn’t realize it at the time, that phone call taught me a lot more than I expected. Obviously, it kick-started my career and led to a somewhat steady stream of writing gigs. But the bigger takeaways? They were rooted not in success, but in what taking the leap actually meant.
Here’s what that phone call taught me—and let me save you some existential angst by sharing them now:
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Say Yes, Then Figure It Out Later
When opportunity knocks (or calls), answer it—even when you’re tempted to turn off the lights and pretend you’re not home. You don’t have to know exactly what’s next. What matters is being open to whatever happens. Like when someone asks you to try bungee jumping, and you say “Sure” before Googling just how often the rope snaps. -
You’re Allowed to Feel Scared (and Excited)
Fear and excitement can coexist—and they often do when something meaningful is on the line. The imposter syndrome, the what-ifs, the irrational scenarios where your personal copies of your book spontaneously combust—it’s all part of the ride. But giving those fears too much power is like letting a bad date dictate your future dating strategy. (Spoiler: Don’t.) -
Make Peace with Being Seen
Being vulnerable, whether in art, relationships, or career, is a risk. Sometimes, it pays off spectacularly. Other times, it turns into fodder for therapy sessions. But either way, there’s something powerful about allowing yourself to be seen—even if it’s messy. Spoiler: It’s always messy. -
Celebrate the Small Stuff
Sure, major life events are great and all, but sometimes the prelude is just as amazing. My two wins that night? Number one: My book was being published. Number two: I had leftover pad thai waiting for me, ensuring my celebratory spiral would involve soy sauce and joy.
From Phone Calls to Real Connections
That phone call was just the beginning for me—but it also marked a deeper shift in how I navigate life and relationships. Because every connection, whether to another person or a dream, starts with a risk (and often, a ridiculous amount of overthinking).
Think of it like this: when you’re flirting with someone new, you’re not 100% certain they’ll swipe right—or that they’ll stick around if they do. But you try anyway because, sometimes, the leap is worth it. That feeling of butterflies, of possibility? It’s the same feeling I got after that call. Terrified, thrilled, unsure of what would come next—but confident one thing was true. I’d taken the chance. And that mattered more than everything else.
Your Call’s Coming—Answer It
So here’s my advice, whether we’re talking about chasing a dream, crafting your perfect rom-com moment, or just surviving the modern maze of connection: when your big call comes, answer it.
Sure, you might be in your pajamas. Your pot of mac and cheese might boil over halfway through. But who cares? The person on the other end doesn’t need you to have it all figured out. They just need you to show up. The rest? Well, you’ll figure that out as you go.
Me? I’m forever grateful for that night in November. No regrets—except maybe the fact that I never did finish editing that short story. Classic.
