Lately I've been thinking about what happens when the Keeper of a place starts feeling a little lost.
In Inkhaven, there are creatures called Doubt Leeches. They don't attack all at once. They're much sneakier than that. They attach themselves quietly and feed on confidence, certainty, and joy until everything feels heavier than it should.
Then there are the Imposter Imps.
They're noisy little things.
They sit on your shoulder and whisper questions that sound an awful lot like truths.
"What if none of this matters?"
"What if nobody notices?"
"What if you're the only one who believes in this place?"
Normally, I know better than to listen.
Lately, though... they've been getting louder.
Unfortunately, the Doubt Leeches and Imposter Imps aren't the only troublemakers roaming Inkhaven.
There are also the Perfection Pixies.
At first glance, they're lovely little creatures. Helpful, even. They flutter around unfinished projects offering suggestions.
"A little more polish."
"One more revision."
"Just one last adjustment."
The trouble is that they rarely know when to stop.
A project can be finished and the Perfection Pixies will still insist it needs one more change before it is ready for the world. The longer they linger, the more Doubt Leeches gather, feeding on uncertainty until even completed projects never make it onto the shelves.
I've been dealing with a Perfection Pixie infestation for quite some time now...
This year hasn't gone the way I planned.
Launches came and went. Ideas stalled. Weeks passed where I barely posted. Projects sat unfinished while the Perfection Pixies insisted they needed just one more adjustment.
Summer After Sunset was supposed to be a celebration of finding my spark again after months of struggling to create. Instead, the date quietly drifted past. The lanterns grew dimmer and dimmer, and what surprised me most wasn't that I was struggling.
It was how few people seemed to notice.
Over time, somewhere along the way, I started wondering if anyone would notice if the lanterns at the Village of Dreams stopped glowing at all. Which was strange because I know people care. Life is just busy and often chaotic. Everyone has their own adventures, their own dragons to face, their own stories to write, and I know I'm not the main character in those stories.
In fact, most days I feel more like the market keeper at the edge of town.
The one who remembers everyone's favorite things.
The one who stocks the shelves, offers directions, patches up travelers, celebrates victories, and sends people on their way with a smile.
The hero visits.
The hero leaves.
The story continues.
And the market keeper stays behind, preparing for the next traveler.
There's nothing wrong with that role.
In fact, I LOVE that role.
The problem is that sometimes even the market keeper wonders if anyone notices when the lights in her shop go dark. Not because she needs applause. Not because she's keeping score. But because she's human. Because sometimes the people who spend the most time making sure everyone else feels seen quietly start wondering if they are seen too... and honestly, I think that's where I've been lately.
Not angry. Not bitter. Just tired and a little disconnected?
Tired enough that the Doubt Leeches have gotten bold and that the Imposter Imps think they can move in permanently.
Disconnected enough to wonder whether people would miss me...Or only miss the things I provide.
And maybe that's the real lesson here... Not that nobody cares. But that even the Keeper of Inkhaven occasionally needs someone to notice she's carrying the lantern.
Because lanterns can't light the path forever if nobody remembers to refill the oil. And I think a lot of creators, caregivers, and small business owners know that feeling...
You pour your heart into something because you love it. You do it willingly. Happily, even... Then one day you look up and realize you've spent so long holding space for everyone else that you forgot to check whether anyone was holding space for you.
It's a strange feeling.
To be surrounded by people and still feel invisible.
To be appreciated for what you provide while wondering if anyone knows the person providing it.
To be known for what you do while quietly hoping someone asks how you're doing...
I don't have a neat ending for this.
I don't have a lesson.
I think I'm still figuring it out.
But if you've ever felt like the person carrying the lantern, carrying more than people realize, I hope you know you're not alone.
Sometimes even the people who seem strongest need someone to notice that they're tired too. So, please know that I see you carrying the lantern. I see you carrying the bags of responsibility and how much they can weigh you down. But more than anything, I see you. I appreciate you. And I hope you know that I mean that. Not because I have to but because I choose to.
Maybe that's how we keep places like Inkhaven alive. Not by carrying the lantern alone, but by helping each other keep it lit.