Three Sides to Every Story: Disappointment, Perspective, and the Beauty of What Is

⚠️ Spoiler Warning: This post contains major themes and story developments from The Wake of Expectations and A Pleasant Fiction. If you haven’t read both books, proceed with caution.

When Extreme released their third album, Three Sides to Every Story, I was disappointed.

I’d loved Pornograffitti—its hooks, its energy, its swagger. I was expecting more of the same: funk-metal riffs, clever turns of phrase, maybe another ballad or two. What I got instead was something sprawling, dense, and unexpectedly serious. Three Sides wasn’t Pornograffitti II—and at the time, that felt like a letdown.

But here’s the thing: I wasn’t wrong to feel that way. I had every reason to want what I wanted. And the album wasn’t wrong for being something else. It just wasn’t what I needed at that moment. It took years for me to come back to it with fresh ears, without expectation, and appreciate it for what it actually was. And once I did, I realized Three Sides might actually be the more profound record. Just not the one I was ready for.

That same tension—between what we expect (or want) and what is—runs through The Wake of Expectations and A Pleasant Fiction. Nowhere more clearly than in Calvin’s relationship with Dani.

He wants that friendship to become a romance. He reads every moment between them through that lens, and when it doesn’t happen, he doesn’t know how to process the closeness. He misses the beauty of what is because he can’t let go of what might have been. It’s only in A Pleasant Fiction, with distance and growth, that he finally understands: he didn’t experience a failed romance—he experienced a rare friendship. And that realization changes everything.

But this theme goes deeper. It shows up in Calvin’s time at Chapelle Dorée—a place that seems perfect on paper. His father thinks the problem is his attitude, that if Calvin just adjusted his perspective, he’d enjoy it more. But it’s not about attitude. It’s about fit. Calvin isn’t imagining that he doesn’t belong there—he’s recognizing it. It’s true. And that doesn’t make him wrong. And it doesn’t make the school a bad place either. It just wasn’t the right place for him, at that time.

I know this, because I lived it.

In real life, I attended a prestigious school I had dreamed of going to. And when I got there, it didn’t feel right. I wanted it to. I tried to make it work. But the environment just didn’t match the person I was at eighteen. And here’s where my path diverges from Calvin’s: I returned to the same institution years later for graduate school—and I had a wonderful experience. I was married by then. I no longer needed the kind of social belonging I’d once sought. My needs were different, and the setting that once felt alien now felt exactly right.

Sometimes, it’s not the place. Sometimes, it’s not you. It’s just not the right fit—yet.

And this is something I think about when I read reviews of my books. The ones that resonate most tend to come from readers who were ready to receive the story for what it is. The ones who are more critical often seem to want the book to be something it isn’t—and never tried to be. I don’t say that with bitterness or condescension. I’m not trying to argue with them. They’re not wrong for wanting it to be something else. It just means they weren’t the right audience for the book at that moment.

But maybe they will be someday.

Because that’s how this works. Sometimes a story doesn’t land because it isn’t what you need. And then, years later, you come back to it—and it fits. Not because the work changed, but because you did.

I didn’t write these books to please a market. I didn’t tailor them to fit a mold. I wrote them because I needed to. I made them for me. And if they happen to speak to you, it’s likely because you’re in a place where they make sense—not because I wrote them for you, but because I wrote them honestly. And something in that honesty happens to echo your own experience.

Three Sides to Every Story didn’t become a better album. Chapelle Dorée wasn’t a worse school the first time around. Dani was always Dani. And the books won’t change either.

But I did. Calvin did. And maybe, someday, a reader who didn’t quite get it the first time around will too.

Javier

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