Steven LaChance Blog

I see a big orange balloon bouncing in the distance. It is bouncing up and down from the ground to the air. I am running to try and catch it. I hear someone giggling, and I look over and there is my sister running next to me. We are very young. I might be three and my sister six. As I look behind me, my parents are standing next to a blue 1968 Ford. They are watching us run and play.

They have this look of accomplishment on their faces, because we are playing for the first time in the back yard of our brand-new house. There is no grass. There are dirt and rocks beneath our feet as we run. Suddenly the orange balloon in front of us comes to its inevitable end, as it hits the sharp corner of a rock. My sister and I immediately come to a halt. The memory is over with the popping of the balloon.

This is one of my first memories. I relive it time and time again in my thoughts and in my dreams. There is some significance to this moment. I find myself searching for the answer. My life, from that particular moment on, has been a series of metaphorical bouncing, popping balloons. I close my eyes and I can still see the bouncing orange balloon, always just out of my reach, and always ready to pop.

I find myself sitting here in the middle of the night, sad, and I wonder how it all could have been different, maybe if this one balloon would have stayed in the air, just for a moment longer?

That memory—raw and vivid—became the cornerstone of how I see life. The bouncing balloon, full of promise yet fragile, captures a simple truth: every joyful moment carries a bittersweet reminder that nothing lasts forever.

Back when our new house’s backyard was just dirt and rocks, it was more than a patch of ground—it was our very first playground. That erratic balloon wasn’t merely a toy; it hinted at endless possibilities and dreams hovering just out of reach.

Over the years, the orange balloon evolved into a metaphor for every chance and hope I chased—vibrant and elusive, always ready to vanish in a burst. Its sudden pop wasn’t just the end of a playful moment; it was a reminder that all joy is fleeting.

Now, on quiet nights, I revisit that memory and think of the dreams I’ve raced after only to see them collapse, like a balloon meeting its sharp end. Yet in that loss, there’s a gentle call to cherish every fleeting joy—each brief moment that shapes who we are.

The orange balloon still echoes in my thoughts. It reminds me to run after what matters, even if it’s destined to pop, and to appreciate the bittersweet beauty of moments that can never be recaptured.

copyright 2025. Steven LaChance, all rights reserved.