For the longest time, I believed I was living in “ the in-betweens. ” You know that space...the awkward gap between who you are now and who you hope to become. I used to imagine myself sitting in a cosmic waiting room, clutching a ticket, waiting for my name to be called into the Real Story. But lately, something shifted. Maybe it’s wisdom, maybe it’s exhaustion, or maybe it’s the bedtime storytelling adventures of my five-year-old. Whatever it is, there’s a new truth echoing in my heart (and making it race a little): The in-betweens are the main event. The Tangent King and the Mismatched Shoes Every night, my son creates his own wild universe. He’ll start with a brave dinosaur, then veer into a jungle, detour to the moon, introduce a magic cupcake, and somehow end up fighting bedtime, if he doesn’t doze off first. Half the time, I’m listening. The other half, I’m trying to anchor him back to the original plot. But here’s my confession: I have to know what happens to the...