When darkness begins to surround us, chances are, there will be that one light that will help us see how beautiful things can be in the absence of the sun. Photo taken during a trip to Arizona in 2016 Advertisements
From my 2011 self: Let this be a reminder that there are days when you wake up feeling at your absolute worst, at your absolute ugliest, the most tired your psyche has ever been. But despite of everything you dislike about yourself, you know that there are people who love you, imperfections included. And that’s how you believe, this feeling, too, shall pass.
Next time, bubble wrap your heart so it doesn’t break. The problem with that is, you would also seal in your pain. Without room to breathe, you give it the opportunity to grow into anger. And anger has the danger of growing into hate. Then, you lose the chance to ever, ever heal. Written in the early 2000’s, resurfaced through Facebook
Sometimes I wonder if during those moments when the world is a blur, black and white or even invisible — if the reverse is true. I wonder if it were the same, if during those moments I could not see the world, if I too, disappear from it. Written on a migraine day, February 20, 2013. Photo taken on a day when the Grand Canyon was hiding behind a cloudy day in 2016.
If there’s ever a clichéd metaphor for life, it must be this. That no matter how gloomy, cold or dark a day may seem, the sun is there, a constant presence, waiting for its time to shine. For there is this thing called not-quite-yet — that something ever burning, so very bright, awaits its turn in this grand design of an awe-inspiring universe. If there’s ever a clichéd metaphor for life, it must be this. But we all need a reminder sometimes. Photo taken during a winter walk in Wawayanda State Park, NJ. It’s definitely worth a visit if you’re in the area and would like a simple walk, with its hiking trails even including 20 miles of the Appalachian Trail.
The moment you think you know everything is the moment you stop living; the moment you stop learning is that moment you’ve stopped being. It’s a world of infinite possibilities and endless chances for doing, creating, experiencing, gaining, giving, loving. It took me a while to cease being closed up to these very possibilities — there’s fear and comfort and insecurities — that are all too familiar companions, too attractive to abandon for the unknown. Even then, their call is louder sometimes, but I try. For what is the alternative, but to stay safe, unharmed but not living. The past year was certainly a year full of such moments, days presented with the choice of going for it, or staying cocooned in the safety of the not-for-mes, not-right-nows, and maybe-next-times. I could only wish this year would be this and much more, and the ones after, ever more open to chances to say yes. To the moment, that which may not come again; to today, our now, the only one we’re certain of; to the …
The weary finds solace in the dead of night, where, in the stillness, hearing only one’s own heart, comes absolution: that no matter how beaten, tired and bruised, it beats — slowly, quietly, but loud enough for even a frantic mind to hear — and fights to see another dawn. Text from my writings, 2010. Picture from our trip to PA, July 2016