By Casie Aufenthie
“There is only one thing that makes a dream impossible to achieve: the fear of failure.” – Paulo Coelho
I was seven years old when I first discovered my life’s dream. My first-grade class was set to visit a local nursing home over the Christmas season, and the teacher tasked us with writing a short story to tell the residents. It resulted in my very first story, The Bad List Elf, which was about how one of Santa’s helpers was none-too-pleased about how all the toys he made were for other kids instead of him. As I shared the antics of this naughty elf, the residents wore huge smiles and laughed at all the right places, and their reactions made my heart swell with a pride and joy the likes of which I’d never experienced before. In that moment, I knew forging that connection to other people, being able to touch hearts and minds with my words that way, was what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. From that day forward, my dream was to be a published author.
Growing up, I always heard how anything can be achieved through hard work, so over the course of my scholastic career, I worked as hard as I could to achieve my dream. I took as many technical courses as possible to sharpen my grammar and understanding of story structure. Every spare moment I possessed was spent writing fanfiction to hone my world building and character development and dialogue. But despite all my studying and practice, when the time came for me to try my hand at creating an original work, something unexpected happened: I got scared.
It was one thing to play in a world and with characters the audience already loves, but to become a published author, I’d have to think up a whole new world and all-new characters. Could I do that? If I did, would anyone actually read it without that pre-established framework to fall back on? What if I get readers, and they think my world is bland? Too detailed? Not detailed enough? What if they hate my characters? Even worse, what if they’re labeled Mary Sues? What if everyone hates my writing style? What if I’m just not good enough? What if, what if, what if.
‘What ifs’ paralyzed me. Story after story was closed and never opened again after just a few chapters drafted, and each time I gave up, the fear that had made me do so grew stronger. The self-doubt seemed justified. Over time, I became so terrified of failing at this one thing I’d ever truly loved to do that I stopped doing it. For over a decade, I didn’t write a word creatively, the idea of another incomplete tale on my laptop too painful.
In those years where fear won, I worked a job I was good at but didn’t love, content to earn a decent living. I found happiness in my friends and family, especially my husband and daughter and the life we’d created. But something always felt missing, a part of my core hollow. I couldn’t figure out why I felt unfulfilled in my life when I had so many wonderful things in it. As it turned out, that hole I felt in my spirit was the place where my passion and purpose used to be, which I realized thanks to the love and support of my husband.
One day, he somehow discovered I used to write Star Wars fanfiction, and as a fan of the franchise, he couldn’t resist tracking it down. After reading my work, he was floored I wasn’t still writing. He had no doubt in my talent and could tell how much I loved writing and, in talking, easily saw how much I missed it. He was adamant I try again—that not fighting for my dream was what would truly be a failure.
With his insistent encouragement, I began drafting The Drift in 2017. The moment I started typing that first sentence, I felt more myself than I had in years. While the fear of those ‘what ifs’ wasn’t gone, my renewed sense of purpose kept me going. There were times I would get stuck for weeks. I lost an entire chapter. Twice. There were more rewrites required than I thought my ego could handle. The formatting got messed up. An editor let me down. The list of struggles goes on, but having experienced a life without passion, I couldn’t stand the thought of letting that fire ever go out again. I intimately understood how letting the fear win wouldn’t make an incomplete book, it’d make an incomplete person. So, I pushed on and persevered, knowing the only way I wouldn’t reach the metaphorical finish line at some point was if I let fear of never crossing it make me stop the race again. This time, I kept fighting for my dream, and that’s how it came true in March 2021.
My experience with giving up on my dream is why, at its core, The Drift emphasizes how important it is to have one. That while it can be utterly terrifying, even painful at times, working to achieve one’s dream gives life purpose. It’s far better to live with passion than exist in fear, so it is my hope that anyone who reads my book is able to find their dream and have the courage to always keep fighting for it.
