Between Lantern Light and Thunderclouds: Balancing Hope and Uncertainty
This year I painted a mural of a monk seated by a lantern, meditating as a storm begins to gather over towering mountains and cascading waterfalls. The scene, visible from the window-like frame of the mural, is both serene and charged with tension. The lantern glows steadily in the foreground, casting its gentle light, while thunderclouds loom on the horizon. For me, this painting became more than an aesthetic project—it became a metaphor for my own life right now.
With my book release on the horizon, I find myself standing in that same interplay of light and storm. There is so much hope in this moment—years of thought and writing finally taking flight into the world. Yet, like the storm clouds that gather over the painted peaks, there is also trepidation. How will the book be received? Will it find its audience? The vulnerability of putting creative work into the world feels much like waiting for rain—you know it will come, but not exactly how or when.
The lantern in my mural reminds me of clarity and purpose. It is the inner voice that steadies me in the middle of uncertainty. It whispers: you wrote this book because it mattered to you, and that is the glimmer. No storm can extinguish that. Yet storms teach us, too. They force us to fortify ourselves, to bend without breaking, and to find new roots of resilience.
Around the monk are trees that cling to rocky cliffs, their roots digging deep into cracks where no softness exists. I painted them intentionally that way, as reminders that strength often emerges in the harshest places. In my own long-spanning career as a surgeon, teacher, and now as an author, I’ve found that balance is rarely about avoiding storms—it is about grounding ourselves in the values and practices that help us endure.
There’s a calm that fills the room every time I step back and gaze at this mural. It alters energy—much like how creative projects can alter the atmosphere of our lives. Even as deadlines, expectations, and doubts swirl around, just looking at the meditating monk reminds me that calm is always available inside, and resilience is always visible outside.
Creativity, whether in words or in paint, is not about certainty. It is about standing in the tension of lantern light and thunderclouds, knowing that both are necessary. The lantern gives me vision; the storm lets me grow. Between them lies a balance that sustains long careers, creative journeys, and most importantly, the spirit itself.
As I move closer to sharing my book with the world, I carry the lesson of my mural with me: hold onto the light, respect the storm, and trust that resilience will carry me through.
