Writing has always been how I make sense of the world — the quiet moments, the hard ones, and everything in between. These are personal essays on life, identity, legacy, and the deeply human experiences that connect us all.
Creation follows a certain pattern.
A flawless design of unique similarities.
You could ponder it for decades—a lifetime, and still not discover its immensity.
Its vastness inhabits the extremities of a continuum.
From the smallest molecule to the largest galaxy…and everything in between. All forms of life—but different.
Classification of species can by no means contain the seemingly endless variations and spectrums conceived in the womb of creation. Consider the diversity of flowers. Of stone and precious stone. Of insects. Of fish, reptiles and mammals.
Of mankind.
Like looking at an optical illusion—your eyes watering and aching with the inability to take it all in. But, you can't look away until you see the image emerge.
The mind can't fully comprehend this pattern that highlights the differences and the sameness, simultaneously. Our finite explorations can only reveal pieces of the picture. Science can tell us 'how' but gets hung up on 'why.'
Maybe it's enough to simply recognize its majesty—that takes your breath and defies rational explanation.
Let's take a moment to just stand in awe.
To give honor and respect to the beauty of unified diversity…
Perfectly ordered by God.
Battle wounds are the currency used to purchase our rights of passage into the next stage of life.
Those internal scars and scabs are signs of wisdom gained by failing and falling.
They're proof of our ability to survive conflict, suffer pain, and allow time to help us through the recovery process.
We've learned to endure.
We now know our strength—we can rely on it.
It will sustain us.
Why are certain things so hard to talk about?
We imagine the other person's variable responses. We settle on believing that one of them (usually the most negative one) will certainly be expressed. And, then we talk ourselves out of saying anything at all. Communication is vital to any relationship. Let's turn off the negative talk in our minds. Let's take a deep breath and say what we need to say.
All will be well…
Familiarity is comfortable.
While driving, have you ever noticed that inner sigh of relief that happens as soon as you see familiar landscape?
We're just a bit anxious when traveling through places we've never been before. In spite of the GPS giving us turn-by-turn directions, we're at attention—sitting straight up and gripping the wheel a little tighter than usual.
But, if you take that same trip two or three times, the uneasiness subsides.
You're good…
Well it's the same thing with writing. We're apprehensive about venturing out into unfamiliar territory. We'd much rather stay in our safe, comfortable environment.
But getting lost isn't the worst thing in the world. It can actually be a good thing. You get to see things that you wouldn't have seen staying in your safety zone.
Try venturing out every day—get comfortable with the uncomfortableness. Just go with it.
And relax…you're almost there.
Ever wonder what gets passed on in families?
Even if you're the 'spittin' image' of granddaddy or uncle (fill in the blank).
What else gets passed down?
What core values, ideas, or morals?
What's embraced or discarded?
We all have our own mind about things. We either accuse or excuse the actions of others to come up with our own rights and wrongs. The generation behind us does the same thing.
And, the cycle continues…
The way I feel and the way I look don't match.
On the inside, I still feel like I did when I was a child. I have to remind myself that I'm grown and can do whatever I want. I'm sometimes startled by the 50-something image that meets me in the mirror.
How did I get here?
Sure, I remember all the growing pains—life's ups and downs that filled each decade. I've learned from each one. Knowledge, understanding, and wisdom are the degrees earned from the university of hard-knocks.
Still it doesn't seem possible that I've come this far…
You don't see me—you see the house I live in. The body I'm wrapped in. The outward manifestation.
I wear my mask—you wear yours.
I show you (or the next person) as much or as little of my true self as I choose to show. In our everyday lives, moments of full disclosure are few and far between—usually only emerging when accompanied by a feeling of complete safety and security.
Barring that, who would dare reveal themselves—allowing others to see their flaws and battle wounds?
There's too much liability. The risks are too great. To unveil, to take down the façade, to remove the disguise takes courage and a certain willingness to accept the potential for new sorrows.
Why on earth would anyone be willing to do that?
Because bearing your soul is the only path to true connection.
Because love doesn't climb over walls—it only walks through open doors.
Why are you here?
When pondering that question, the mind automatically thinks—personal goals.
From one to the next…
"I want to finish school."
"Get married."
"Have a great career."
"Raise my kids and put them through college."
And so on and so forth.
But that's not the question. Not what you'll leave to your kids or what you want on your tombstone. Think broader scale—the grand scheme of things.
What's your purpose? Your legacy?
What will come to mind when people hear your name?
That puts a brand new spin on things doesn't it? Let that swirl around in your head for a minute…just let it marinate.
Sure it's been said before, but I think we're all here to find out WHY we're here. That's our mission.
It begins with taking the time to put goals aside—JUST STOP!
Shut down all thoughts and emotions.
Breathe in the stillness of silence.
and look up…
She had strength.
The kind that seems to come from nowhere—it's just there. Such strength, knowledge, and beauty doesn't belong here.
Who decided it was alright for grace and kindness to occupy this sickening, smelly, monotoned room with a dingy floor and even dingier machines that only seem to be doing something?
She's not worried—why isn't she worried? She's going to the other side of the mountain.
I don't understand…what mountain?
(You always take me with you. Am I going too? Who's that lady in the other bed? Why is she staring at me?)
The tranquility is contagious. I don't recognize what I feel, but I think it's called peace. I'm glad it's here. It's a warm blanket shielding us from the madness that could be.
It's just us two—right here, right now…like always. There's no crying or sadness.
She's going to the other side of the mountain.
I don't even realize what's happened until after the funeral.
Her journey is over…