IS CLOSE ENOUGH ACTUALLY CLOSE ENOUGH?
. . . or is just fear wearing a sensible blazer?
In my last post, we talked about Grace’s identity crisis (shoes and all). This week, we’re fast-forwarding to the end of the Storyhill series (Pieces and Parts)—because we’re ambitious like that—to talk about Ivy Winston.
Ivy sometimes gets overshadowed by Nick and Henry (who, let’s face it, are pretty magnetic—if I get to say that about my own characters), but she quietly carries one of the most relatable inner battles of the entire series:
Should she follow the safe path or go after her dream?
She’s brilliant—with the degrees to prove it—but still struggles with the same tug-of-war so many of us do. A conversation with Nick, about a third of the way through the book, sums it up pretty well:
[Nick] scanned the open document and looked up at [Ivy]. “Is this a screenplay?”
She tipped back her glass of wine, emptying it. “It’s a television script.”
He looked back at the computer and continued to read. “It’s good. Funny. Is this part of your dissertation?”
She sighed and slumped back against the couch. “No.”
He set the laptop on the floor and inched closer to her. “I need you to connect the dots for me.”
“I’m getting a joint doctorate in English and Comparative Media Analysis and Practice so I can study, and teach, things like that.” She pointed at the laptop, still sitting open at Nick’s feet.
Nick could almost hear the pieces locking into place. “If I’m reading between the lines correctly, instead of chasing an unpredictable career, you study the people in it? To feel like part of the industry without having to take the leap?”
“Yes,” she breathed out, still shielding her eyes from him.
He inched closer to her, their thighs almost touching. He gently knocked his knee against hers. “Why not just go after the dream? Why not write for a living?”
Her arm flew to her side and she twisted her hands in her lap. “Because the entertainment industry is fickle and unstable, and after my childhood, I want stability. I need a steady paycheck and a 401(k). I need predictability. That industry is too messy.”
Nick touched a finger to her forehead, smoothing the deep crevices between her eyebrows. “Ivy,” he said softly, “life is unpredictable and messy.”
“But this way, I can control at least some of the variables.”
“By giving up before you even try?”
Her spine straightened and she pulled away from his touch. “What I’m doing is close enough.”
“Is it? Or is what you really want standing in the way of you finishing your dissertation?”
She turned toward him, and the anguish in her eyes nearly leveled him. “I can’t do it, Nick. I can’t take the leap.”
Yes, there are perfectly valid reasons to choose the “safe” route—money, caretaking responsibilities, health, bandwidth. But sometimes, what we call practicality is actually just fear wearing a sensible blazer.
We tell ourselves we’re being smart, realistic, mature. But deep down, maybe we’re just scared—scared of failing, of being judged, or of realizing our dream doesn’t look quite how we imagined once we finally step into it.
Like Ivy, we say, “This is close enough.” But is it?
Those nagging little gremlins in our heads love to whisper worst-case scenarios and wrap us in bubble wrap. And sure, they mean well. They want us safe, protected, untouched by disappointment. But they’re also the ones keeping us from doing the very thing our soul is tugging us toward.
And sometimes we get so good at rationalizing that we convince ourselves we never really wanted the dream in the first place.
We rewrite our desires into more manageable versions: instead of write the book, we settle for teach about writing. Instead of open the shop, we sell a few things on Etsy. Instead of go all in, we stick one, albeit, perfectly manicured, toe in the cold water and call it “enough.”
And sometimes it is! But other times, we feel the ache anyway—the tug that tells us we’ve only built a replica of the life we wanted, not the real thing.
There’s nothing wrong with wanting stability. Ivy’s desire for security is understandable—after all, she’s someone who grew up constantly moving from place to place, never being able to put down roots. But security and fulfillment aren’t mutually exclusive. Sure, sometimes the dream is hard. And messy? Always.
But it might just be the thing that makes us feel most like ourselves. And the longer we delay it, the more we risk waking up to a life that looks “good on paper” but doesn’t feel good in our mind, body, or soul.
So, I’ll paraphrase what Nick asked Ivy:
What if you stopped settling for close enough?
Now, you know how I love my journal questions—so, here are a few for you to ponder:
1. It’s an oldie, but goodie, and one I have engraved into a paperweight on my desk: What would you attempt to do if you knew you could not fail?
2. What dream have I quietly placed on the back burner—and what reasons (or fears) have I used to keep it there?
3. When I’ve taken a risk and it didn’t go as planned, what happened next? Was the “failure” truly a dead end—or did it teach me something, open a new door, or reveal something important about myself?
Sure, these questions may sound familiar. But today, what if you gave yourself the gift of time to really answer them? You just might uncover something you didn’t expect.
And, if you have yet to read the last book in the Storyhill series, Pieces and Parts, you can grab it HERE—because, if reader comments are true, a life without Nick Malone is no life at all. 😉
