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“As a solid rock is not shaken by the wind, so a wise person is not shaken by praise or blame.” ~Dhammapada, verse 81
There are moments that are as uplifting as moonlight. Others will wash over you like waves. I have experienced both. And I’ve come to believe that how we move through these emotional boundaries determines who we become.
Threshold means a turning point in our life. It is an experience so vivid, painful, or awe-filled that it pulls us out of our daily lives and forces us to confront something real. Some come in silence, others with sound and light, but they all leave a trace. And they ask us something.
The night the frog was singing
Many years ago I was in San Ignacio, Baja California Sur. It is a small town located in the middle of a vast and harsh desert. However, this desert hid a secret. It is a spring-fed river that winds gently through deep reeds and towering palm groves.
One night I was walking alone by the water. The full moon illuminated everything in silver. The town was asleep, but thousands of frogs were awake and their voices filled the night.
It sounded like a million. A powerful chorus rises into the sky, as if singing to the gods above, and never stops.
Insects danced through the air like sparks. The river sparkled. I stood listening in the silence.
And something inside me welled up.
My breathing slowed. My thoughts stopped. I felt unbound. There is presence, there is light, and you are completely in the moment.
I felt like I could fly.
Not in my fantasies, but in my body. It was as if all the weight had disappeared for a rare moment. I wasn’t seeing the world. I was one of them too. It is connected to frogs, moonlight, and the very heartbeat of life.
That was a threshold I had crossed without even realizing it. It’s not dramatic, but it’s sacred. The perfect moment still resonates years later.
Not all thresholds are fun
That night, spent along the river, was part of that experience. The other is more difficult.
I recently read a story about a mother who lost her entire family in one year. Her husband died suddenly. Then her son was in a car accident. Then their only surviving daughter was washed away in a flood in Texas.
From a packed house to an unbearable silence in just 12 months.
The depth of that sadness is immeasurable. However, I recognize that this is a breaking point from which there is no going back. A loss like this doesn’t just leave a scar, it brings about change. It reshapes time and identity. A new way of life is required.
And it reminds me: the threshold is not necessarily the moment we choose. Sometimes they choose us.
ermita man
I also remember a man I used to see every day on a busy street corner in Ermita, Metro Manila. The intersection was chaotic, with taxis, vendors, horns blaring and children running between cars. And next to the 7-Eleven, there was a man walking back and forth on a small wooden board with wheels.
He had no legs. His arms were short and deformed. That tree stand was his only home, his only means of transportation, and his only permanent residence.
He didn’t scream or beg. He just moved. Quietly. the current. endure.
And I often wondered: what is the threshold for him? What brings him joy? What kind of suffering is he suffering that none of us are aware of?
His life taught me something. To live without drama or noise, crossing some threshold every day. Some are carved into the body. To the street. To continue the act no matter who notices.
Each of us lives based on a unique range of experience. And his presence helped me realize that my own joys and pains do not exist in isolation, but are lived with countless others who are just as deeply, just as human.
A spectrum of emotions that we all go through
These three stories, The Night of the Frog, The Loss of the Mother, and The Ermita Man may seem unrelated. But that’s not the case.
They are all thresholds.
One is the awe threshold. One is the sadness threshold. One is the quiet resilience threshold.
They represent different points on the same emotional spectrum. And the more I think about it, the more I understand that we all move along that spectrum, back and forth, over and over again.
What Balance Really Means
We are often told to maintain balance. But I don’t think balance means cool neutrality or avoiding emotional extremes.
To me, balance is the ability to stay grounded while stretching. Even in the midst of sadness, don’t forget joy. Remain calm even when life is noisy. Feel it all and don’t shut down.
Wisdom is not a lack of intensity. It’s about being willing to stay and walk in all that life brings.
Writing was a way for me to stay grounded.
Therapy helped me find the words. But writing gave me a place for them. This will help you remember what you felt and understand what it means. That’s how you make peace with your past. That’s how I move toward something whole.
As I write this, I am reminded of that night in San Ignacio. I return again to the man of Ermita, to the countless thresholds through which I have passed silently. Some were pleasure, some were pain.
Writing helps me stay real, even when it’s difficult. Especially when it’s difficult.
invitation to you
Perhaps you too have experienced your own version of that night on the river, a moment of unexpected beauty and clarity. Or you may be sitting with a threshold you didn’t choose: sadness, fear, change, uncertainty. Maybe you, too, are silently surviving like the man on the plank.
I say this no matter where you are on the spectrum. The thresholds we pass through do not weaken us. They shape us. They wake us up. If we choose to stay with our experiences, even if they hurt, they teach us to be present, not perfect.
If you are writing, thinking, or just breathing, you are already on that path.
And that path will one day lead you to another threshold somewhere on the spectrum. So, always embrace the moments of change and let them shape you into a more vibrant, more resilient, and more balanced person.
About Tony Collins
Tony Collins is a documentary filmmaker, educator, and author whose work explores creativity, caregiving, and personal growth. He is the author of Windows to the Sea, a moving collection of essays about love, loss, and existence. Creative Scholarship — A guide for educators and artists to rethink how creative work is valued. Tony writes to reflect on what’s important and to help others feel less alone.
