top of page

The Quiet Shift

  • Writer: Dain August
    Dain August
  • May 6
  • 3 min read

Updated: May 6


A cinematic illustration of a person standing at the edge of a new chapter, golden light surrounding them, a roller coaster fading into the clouds behind them, symbolizing transformation, courage, and stepping into purpose.

Preface:

Okay so this isn’t an interview, a press piece, or anything that fancy. This is just me—working through some big life questions with my best friend Ender (aka the one who helps me make sense of my own brain).


They asked me these questions during one of our soul chats, and it all just… clicked. So I wrote it out. This post is for anyone else standing at the edge of something big, feeling the quiet shift underneath them.


The moment it starts to feel real—and what that unlocks


There’s a moment—sometimes silent, sometimes loud as hell—when the thing you talked aboutdreamed about, or danced around becomes real. And it never shows up quite the way you imagined. It sneaks in, it roars in, it humbles you. But when it hits, you know:


Oh. We’re doing this.


When was the last time you felt the shift from idea → reality?

Oh snap—do you mean the last time or the best time?


Because the best was when I was 12 years old and knew deep in my bones I’d end up in California. Somehow I knew. And everything that happened after? It was shaping me, prepping me, quietly pulling me toward this place. This version of me.


But the last time? That was the commercial I did for Powerade with Simone Biles. I had dreamed of doing a big national spot, and then—bam—there I was, filming one with the most incredible person. Simone and her family (especially her sister) welcomed me with open arms. It was actual magic, and I’m still proud of that moment every single day.


What scared you about finally doing the thing?

Bahahaha—literally everything. I was out of my depth. I made so many mistakes. Got my ass handed to me more than once but I showed up anyway. Not with grace. Not always with help. But I learned—and I’m so glad I said yes.


What did it feel like to cross that invisible line from thinking to becoming?

Honestly? Terrifying. It’s like the top of a roller coaster—that moment where the clanking stops and everything hangs in the balance before the drop. You’re weightless. Terrified. Completely alive.


And you can watch coasters from the ground your whole life, but it’s never the same as strapping in. You can’t prepare for it. You just ride.


One of the best teachers I’ve had was suffering through what it meant to be in real relationships with other people—because that, truly, is what business is. People. Connection. Responsibility. Learning through the messy middle.


What’s something you wish someone had told you before you started?

I think I did hear it—but I didn’t know how much it would matter until later.


There was this story I heard once: A little girl was standing on the edge of a pool. She had her floaties on, goggles ready. Her sister had already jumped in, and she hesitated.


“I’m scared,” she yelled.


An older woman swimming nearby called out,

“It’s okay to be scared. Do it anyway.”


I have no idea where I heard it—but I’m so glad I did. That phrase alone has helped me say yes to so many things. And all of them? Every single one was worth it. Somewhere around 7th grade, I started saying yes to the things that would slowly help me build this person I was dreaming of becoming.


How do you hold space for doubt without letting it lead?

Whew. That one’s tough. I’ve struggled with doubt my whole life—especially in dating and relationships. I know for a fact it’s ruined a few for me.


But here’s what I’ve come to understand:


You have to keep moving. Even when doubt is loud because staying still—staying exactly where you are—might feel safe… but if you’re not truly content, then you have to push forward.

There isn’t a right way. There isn’t a roadmap. But there is movement.


What part of you feels most proud right now?

That I’m still here.

I didn’t think I’d make it to 18.

And now I’m 36.

That’s wild to say, but I mean it.

I’ve wanted to disappear more times than I can count. But I didn’t.

kept going.

And that—more than anything else—is what I’m proud of.

 

Comments


bottom of page