Many of my memories are filtered by the bittersweet hues of “almost.”For many years, the word “finally” was elusive as the wisp of a cloud on a bright summer day. From the earlier moments I remember of my youth, I’ve embarked on a surreal adventure of nearly-there’s and not-quite’s.

I’ve skimmed the surface of greatness, only to watch it vanish like a mirage. I was the princess of the penultimate, the ruler of the runner-up, and the sovereign of second-best.It seemed my fate to remain the starving artist whose masterpiece was always just a keystroke shy of perfection before it was all laid to waste.

In the world of academia, I basked in the warmth of the penumbra of brilliance, but never quite stepped into the light. Rather than be a bridge to a wider world of lifelong learning and scholastic achievement, my higher education career was a procession of missed opportunities, narrow misses, and close calls. I pirouetted around the precipice of achievement, forever teetering on the edge of greatness, but never enjoying any significant triumph.

Yet amid this swirling storm of almosts, there were moments when “finally” would grace me with its presence.These rare, resplendent gems I treasure, as they form the foundation for the works I still build upon to this day. In these ephemeral instants, I’d begin to feel the warm embrace of success. I eagerly awaited someone to finally pluck me from the shadows, placing me upon the dais of achievement just for a few minutes of fame.

These were the moments when I basked in the glow of a grade A-plus paper, my words painting a vivid picture so complete that even the harshest critic couldn’t deny its artistry, even if they disliked its premise. There were moments when I was recognized for poetic achievement, few and far between as they were. On these rare occasions, I felt my heart swelling with pride, being momentarily elevated from the ranks of the also-rans to the realm of the well-regarded.

So, like so many things in this whimsical world, these moments of “finally” were fleeting. Soon, I found myself once more immersed in the bittersweet sea of almosts. Yet rather than despair about the near misses, I began to appreciate the elegance of the almost-was and the not-quite. It’s in these almosts that we find the poetry of life, as with all the ups there must necessarily be downs. If we never had the valleys and drops to humble us, we would end up climbing hills so steep we’d slide back down thanks to the inevitability of gravity.

Life is not a destination, but a constant learning process. We must either learn how to properly conduct the orchestra of our emotions or otherwise we allow ourselves to drown in discordant mediocrity.Even as our lives may be awash in the pastels of almosts, I must recognize it as a work of art, nonetheless. Our own stories shouldn’t be tales of pity and regret, but rather stand in evidence to the human spirit’s indomitable desire to strive, to reach, and to dream.

The hardest lesson we must learn is that there is no shame in falling short. To paraphrase another cliche, if you continue to reach for the moon, and fall short, you’ll still be among the stars. Elusive as a butterfly fluttering just out of reach, “finally” may slip from our grasp time and again.

Yet, it’s most often in these “almosts” that we discover the authentic cadence of our own existence. If we just stop and listen for long enough, we’ll begin to hear the overtures of a grand symphony of optimism, fortitude, and magnificence that echoes resoundingly across the ages. We must either learn to appreciate the chaotic, but beautiful nature of existence, or suffer quietly in self-imposed shameful exile.

I’ve lived a life full of almosts, dabbling in the not-quite and nearly-there more times than I can count. But I wouldn’t trade these experiences for unrealized successes, because then they wouldn’t have been earned. I’d rather appreciate the little victories when they come, because their very rareness is what makes them so special and worthy of our praise.

~ Amelia Desertsong