Dear Ex,

It has been almost five years since I left you. I miss you still. You leave monthly whispers of alimony, and quarterly updates of your life since the abandonment.

I keep feeling that it is all too good for me. I left you in the worst possible way. I professed my love for someone else – someone I could never have, anyway.

I was flippant and psychotic about it, too. I got up and left one day, never to return.

I regret leaving you the way I did. Our marriage was dying a slow death. But I didn’t have to hack at your heart in one fell swoop.

I made you pack my belongings because I couldn’t bear to come back and do the deed myself.

Recently, I had a nightmare that the tables were turned. I was packing your stuff. Only then, did I realize what an impossible task I set you up with.

I stayed for 13 years because I thought the good outweighed the bad. The fun times seemingly overshadowed the screaming matches, the cruel use of semantic language.

You told me I was hard to love, that I was emotionally complex. That was your way of calling me a bitch.

I called you out on it. You confirmed the not-so-cryptic message.

But hey. We both had our unresolved traumas that we brought into our fights. Not even two years of couples therapy near the end of our marriage could foster effective communication skills.

We were both far too wounded to see past ourselves, yet we didn’t know where one of us ended and the other began. The intertwining and untangling happened at the most inopportune times.

You told me during our last quarterly update that you had forgiven me for my transgressions. I asked why, and you said that four-and-a-half years would be a long time to hold onto such emotional turmoil.

I realized then that I had not yet forgiven myself. Now, I listen to the 36-year-old part of me who left. I understand now.

That part of me was doing the best they could. They thought they were being merciful by finally ripping off the bandage and walking out on our eight-year marriage.

It was that moment that I could finally start to forgive myself.

Then, I listened to the 27-year-old part of me – the one simultaneously full of hope and doubt about our upcoming marriage. They whispered to me:

I love her so much. But I’m in too deep.

Had I loved myself then as much as I do now, I would have been merciful and cut the cord right then and there.

I put your happiness above my own.

And now I realize that you weren’t happy either. Not with me. And certainly not with yourself.

We sought love within each other, when we needed to look within ourselves first.

Had we done that, we might have been best friends for 18 years instead of fractured lovers for 13 years and separated souls for another five.

I forgive you, dear ex.

I also forgive myself.

You may not ever be my best friend again, but I will hold our fun times dearly.

Now, as tears well up in my eyes, I contemplate a future of being in a relationship with myself. After all, no other relationship will matter to me nearly so much.

I will probably never get married again, but I wish myself – and YOU – all the happiness in the world, finally.

And maybe soon, we will both achieve inner peace and tell each other all about it in our next quarterly update.

Dear Me:

You’ve come so far, you’ve struggled hard,
Yet somehow you’ve gone nowhere.

You’ve been in love, you’ve been a friend,
But still can’t find someone who cares.

It’s not your fault, you’ve tried your best,
But just can’t help to feel ashamed.

You broke their trust, they broke your heart,
Still you are not the one to blame.

Your roads been rough, your feet are worn,
Yet you still walk through thick and thin.

You deserve a break, you deserve to live,
Stuck in the past is where you’ve been.

You do know better, you know right from wrong,
Yet you still make the same mistakes.

But you do you, you must go on,
It’s your strong will they cannot break.

You’re a good man, you’ve just made bad choices,
Don’t let them be what defines you.

You write these words, you know them well,
Don’t let bad vibes be the ones that find you.

Just be yourself, and love yourself,
Slowly one day things will get better.

You can do this it’s the choice you made,
When times get tough just read this letter.

I wish there was a truck stop in Heaven,
With a restaurant attached.
A salad bar and a buffet,
And a payphone in the back.

The coffee’s always hot,
And the food aint too bad.
I wish there was a truck stop in Heaven,
So I could talk to my Dad.

He says “I’m flyin over Montana,
just dropped a load of rain.
I’m headed down to Dallas,
And then up to Maine.

No more haulin’ produce,
Gasoline or TVs.
Cause up here in Heaven,
I’m haulin’ prayers and dreams!”

I wish there was a truck stop in Heaven,
With a restaurant attached.
A salad bar and a buffet,
And a payphone in the back.

The coffee’s always hot,
And the food aint too bad.
I wish there was a truck stop in Heaven,
So I could talk to my Dad.

“This rigs as big as a mountain,
You can see me from where you are.
It’s no Freightliner, no Peterbilt,
It’s an actual Western Star!

My Jake-brake is the thunder,
The exhaust makes tornadoes!
Man, it means so much more
to be the king of the road,
where the streets are paved with gold!”

I wish there was a truck stop in Heaven,
With a restaurant attached.
A salad bar and a buffet,
And a payphone in the back.

The coffee’s always hot,
And the food ain’t too bad.
I wish there was a truck stop in Heaven,
So I could talk to my Dad.

I’d tell him that I miss him,
every single day.
“Wish you could just stop by,
and meet my wife,
when you pass by this way.”

He tells me not to worry,
That one day he’ll meet her.
But if we look up at night,
we can see the lights,
of his 18 wheeler!

I wish there was a truck stop in Heaven,
With a restaurant attached.
A salad bar and a buffet,
And a payphone in the back.

The coffee’s always hot,
And the food ain’t too bad.
I wish there was a truck stop in Heaven,
So I could talk to my Dad.

For my husband, who left too soon. For me, who stayed.

We were building something real.
Something messy and beautiful and ours.
Three years of laughs,
Hard talks, late-night plans,
Tears and kisses and silly fights
That ended in bed or in smiles.

You were my safe place.
My soft landing.
My best friend and my storm.

We said forever in March.
Turned keys to our first home in May.
And in July—
You left me
With a silence so loud
It still rings in my bones.

I watched you go.
I screamed.
I begged.
I broke in ways I can’t explain—
Not even to myself.

You didn’t just die.
You tore the sky open,
And I’m still standing in the wreckage,
Barefoot, bleeding, trying to breathe.

People say “you’re so strong.”
No.
I’m not strong.
I’m shattered.
But I wake up anyway.
I make coffee.
I cry quietly in the shower.
I hold our memories like landmines—
Knowing any one of them can level me.

I loved you too much to be okay.
But I also love you enough
To keep going.

Even when it hurts.
Even when I hate you for leaving me.
Even when I ache for just one more touch,
One more laugh,
One more “I’m home.”

You were the love of my life.
The stepfather who adored our kids like they were your own.
The man who made ordinary things feel magical.
You were it for me.

And now I carry all of that
Inside a heart stitched with grief and fire.

I’m still here,
Still breathing,
Still holding the broken pieces
Of everything we were supposed to be.

And I will keep going—
Not because I’m strong,
But because love like ours
Deserves to survive
Even if one of us didn’t.

Your Word say in Ezekiel 11 verse 19 “I will give them a singleness of heart and put a new spirit in them I will take away their stony stubborn heart and give them a tender responsive heart”, (NIV)

I come now asking for an exchange.

Where there is anger,
Grant me Love.
Where I harbor resentment,
Teach me Forgiveness.
Where there is regret,
Show me Acceptance.
Where I hide my shame,
Give me Honor.
Where I buried my sorrows,
Bring forth Gladness.
Where I have pain
Restore me with Comfort.
When I crumble under doubt,
Rise me up into Assurance.
Where there is Chaos,
Bring my thoughts into Order.
Where there is confusion
Show me Clarity.
Where I may pass Judgement,
Open me up to Compassion.
Where I have pride,
Teach me humility.
Where there is fear,
Give me Faith.
Where there is rejection,
Grant me Detachment.
When I worry,
Give me Peace.
Where there is Long Suffering
Grant me Patience.
Where I lost pieces of myself along the way,
Grant me the Strength, Endurance, Grit, Perseverance and Wisdom to come back, Stronger, wiser, and more Victorious than Before.
Ase

Dear Tarrell,
That night is something I’ll never forget. When you took your own life in front of me, my heart didn’t just break—it exploded. I felt something sacred tear away inside me. I would’ve done anything to stop it, but it was too late. You were gone, and in that moment, a piece of me died with you.
I don’t know how to put into words what it’s been like living without you. That night changed me forever. I can still hear the silence afterward—how loud it was, how final. I keep reliving it. I see your face, your pain, and I wonder why you couldn’t hold on just one more minute. I would’ve held you. I wanted to help you carry the pain.
You were not only my husband, but also my safe place. For the first time, I felt seen, heard, and truly loved. Tarrell, you brought me peace and made life easier, softer—until that night. Now, the world feels cold and hollow without you here.
The kids… God, the kids. You didn’t share their blood, but you gave them your whole heart. You were the father Adalynn had always dreamed of. Thank you for giving her something no one else ever could: the feeling of being wanted, chosen, and protected. She lit up around you. Her heart trusted you in ways I had never seen. The bond you two had—it was rare, beautiful, and real. Egypt adored you, too. She still talks about you and asks where you went. They don’t understand why you would leave us.
Nine months later, and it still feels like yesterday. I will forever hate Mondays and the 15th. We’re in therapy, all of us, and trying to piece ourselves back together. Nothing will ever be the same, and trying to find our new normal has been the biggest struggle for us. I’m not the same. PTSD, anxiety, panic attacks—I carry all of it now.
I know you were hurting. I know you were carrying so much that you couldn’t even find the words to tell me. I also know the Army made you feel you had to be strong all the time. That crying made you weak. That vulnerability was a failure. It never was. Crying, asking for help, falling into my arms—that would’ve been the bravest thing you ever did. I wish you had seen that. I wish you had believed that being emotional didn’t make you any less of a man. If anything, it would’ve made you even more of one.
I would’ve carried every ounce of your pain if it meant keeping you here. I would’ve done anything. You didn’t have to go through it alone. You were never alone. We loved you through it all—flaws, battles, shadows, and all. I just wish love had been enough to save you.
Now I’m left picking up the pieces—with the girls by my side—trying to create a new kind of life in a world I never wanted to know. One without you.
I love you so much. I miss you every second of every day. Tarrell, I always will.
Forever yours,

This gig
This “being my best self” business,
This sunny day after the storm
Is pretty rough.
With wind blown trash from last week
(Or last decade) all over the soul
It is exhausting today, to
Focus on today’s business.

Some other day will be enchanting, Exhilarating,
I’ll be Wonder Woman
Or
Maybe I’ll be just enough, ok?
And putting one foot in front of another will come a little
Easier, next day
Even if Van Der Klok assesses the score and my kind intentions are a bit lopsided today, and my hair;
There will be
Another day
For me.

I think I have fallen in love with you; it’s been a long journey of convincing myself that I am worth having you.

I get up early just to spend time with you, and you are the last thought that I have at night. You make me a better version of myself, because I never want to give anything but my best to you!

No matter the day, you are always there for me, encouraging me to be better than yesterday, but regardless, I know I will always have you there!

You are golf!

I love you!

These conflicting emotions and thoughts always get the best of me and take control. Sinking their teeth into my brain, releasing their venom so it’s always on my mind. I want to just give up and stop trying to take back control. Just give in completely. Let it all go. I’m so tired of trying to hold on and it’s useless anyway. I may or may not have put up a good fight, but the war was fought and the battle is done. It has won. This is the time to surrender and admit defeat.

Prowriting aid style score: 100%

Letters Between a Father and Daughte
by Cindy Newcomer
Here is a brief intro for the following letters. My dad died quickly and unexpectedly from cerebral hemorrhage in 1967 at the age of 42. I was two years old at the time and have no conscious memory of him. Very little was ever mentioned about him in our home. To say that my mom was not the nurturing, motherly type is an understatement. Discussing feelings, grief and loss about his death were not a part of life. I was basically left to try to understand the loss and deal with it on my own. Needless to say, I have spent a lifetime with some complicated grief issues. Fast forward to 2015. Russ, my husband of 15 years, my soul mate and my best friend, died suddenly from a massive heart attack. Although I have dealt with many losses in my life, this one hit me hard. Since how we deal with present circumstances is influenced by our past experiences, grief issues with my dad’s death resurfaced. I was challenged to write a letter to my dad and then to write a letter from my dad to me. I have written several letters over the years to my dad but always from a child’s point of view. I decided I wanted to do this from today, as a 52-year-old woman. I must have started the letter over a half a dozen times. I just couldn’t do it. Then one day I was finally able to.
Dear Dad,
I have spent a lifetime thinking about you. Wondering what you would have been like, what our relationship would have been like, what my life would have been like. I would usually imagine what I guess would be almost a parallel universe in which you didn’t die when I was 2. That this is how I have thought of you and us, just dawned on me today. My life is very different because of everything that happened. I really have no idea who I would be or what I would be like had you lived. My life has been an amazing adventure. Some good, some bad – all of it combined to make me, well, me.
I have always been kind of mad because you left and you didn’t take me with you. After a mere 50 years, I think I have gotten over that one. I guess I want to say thank you for creating me. Even though you weren’t around, you did really shape and influence my life. The things I know about you are what I learned from mom, Grammy, some other family members and some of your friends and our neighbors. What I always heard from mom is that you were a hard worker, a hard drinker and went to church every Sunday. Those things became my goals when I was younger. I developed a strong work ethic, I drank like a damn fish and I went to church every Sunday. Even though at this point in my life, I disagree with much of the Catholic doctrine, the influence of the church might be what kept me alive and on this side of prison bars. With you not being around and well, mom being mom, I learned how to be self-reliant, independent, learned how to improvise and problem solve. I learned very early that life isn’t fair. It amazes me that I meet so many people who are adults who still think life should be fair. What the hell is fair??? That may be a lesson that is better learned at a young age. I think it is harder for people to accept when they get older.
During my teen years I really tried to emulate you. I can look back now and see how messed up some of the stuff I did really was. Even when I was in high school, I worked and drank almost every day. I would always make it to church either Saturday night or Sunday morning. Granted, sometimes I was still drunk from the night before. After I graduated I frequently worked two to three jobs. From 18 to 20, it wasn’t unusual for me to work 60 to 70 hours in a week. Damn, would love to have that money again. I would pay mom rent money, then the rest usually got spent on alcohol, drugs, music and cigarettes. Somehow, I think you would have put a boot to my ass for that.
I was told by Grammy and Uncle Lynn that you were the type of man that would help anyone if you could. I have tried to be that way. It has gotten me into some trouble on a few occasions, but I still think it is a good way to live. Grammy also told me that you were direct. When you had something to say, you said it. That one has really bit me in the ass a few times. Discretion is not always my strong suit.
Back to when I was a teen. I knew you had been in the military so I joined the Army Reserves on my 18th birthday. A big part of my motivation to do that was to follow in your footsteps. It wasn’t until many, many years later that Aunt Mary told me that you didn’t really like women being in the military. Oops, sorry. I was just winging it. I didn’t have you to bounce this shit off of.
I can’t imagine how different things would have been and who I would be today without the life I have lived. It isn’t like I can take the parallel universes in which you live and the real world, have them side by side and only pick the good from each one. It would be a cool trick and an awesome science fiction movie, but it isn’t reality. I have two amazing kids. Not sure how you would feel about either of them though. You are from a generation that espoused some old school ideas and values. Their lives fit into more modern-day times of acceptance. They are amazing human beings though and I am so proud of both. They have been through some serious adversity in their lives and they continue to have good hearts and are amazing people. They are both smart, resilient, hardworking, caring, kind and just good people. You have a great granddaughter. She is so adorable. Your great grandson is on the way and is due on July 4th. (Yeah, I know, that is your and mom’s wedding anniversary.)
It is weird. All my life, I have believed that when I die, you and I will be together and I will get to see you. Regardless of all the manifestations of my beliefs in religion and spirituality, and no matter how I define a Higher Power, this has always remained a constant. I don’t even really know what I believe as far as an afterlife. The whole heaven and hell things just confuse me. I don’t know. Even though I don’t know, I still have the childlike vision of you and me hanging out in heaven that kind of looks like a cartoon or a sappy greeting card. I remember when I was younger and a relative said that playing cards was the work of the devil and we were all going to hell. Even then I envisioned us just sitting around a table playing cards in hell. Apparently, the cards we were using were fire-proof. It is weird to think of some of these things as an adult and see them for what they are. Childhood thoughts and fantasies. Even today, I still have a belief that we will be together. I have that wish to be with Russ again, but I don’t have that belief with the same conviction that I do with you. Plus, even though I have lost so many people in my life, you and Russ are the only two that I think that way about.
This is such a new and strange way of thinking. I guess it is more from an adult perspective rather than being stuck with a childlike perspective. Hey, that reminds me, I wrote you a letter one time when I was around 6 or 7. I even put it in an envelope, addressed it to Heaven and rode my bike to the Post Office to mail it. I wonder what I wrote in that.
I love you dad. I love the image of you, the thought of you. I love the thought that you loved me and you wanted me. I have tried to live my life in a way that would make you proud of me. I am sure I let you down a few times. Hopefully though overall, I am a person that you would like, love and be proud to call your daughter.
I love you,
Cindy
Within a few days of writing this letter, I went to a Reiki circle. Now I must clarify that Reiki is such a mystery to me. I have gone probably about a dozen or more times. I still want to be skeptical of it but I have fallen in love with it. The benefits I have received from it have been mind-blowing. Anyhow, I was driving home after the Reiki circle and the letter from my dad to me just started to formulate in my head. When I got back to where I was staying, I put on some music, closed my eyes and just started typing. When I got out of my own way, I was able to receive this letter from my dad.
Dear Cindy,
I never left you. I have been in your heart the whole time. I know that sometimes you are able to feel me there. Other times, you ignore that I am there. My love for my baby girl has never gone away. I didn’t want to leave you, but I didn’t have a choice in the matter. It was just my time. I couldn’t take you with me nor would I have wanted to;, you were a baby. Think about it, would you have been willing to take one of your kids along at that young age or even now? Yeah, I didn’t think so.
Stop worrying about whether or not I am proud of you. YES, I am proud of you. Do I completely understand you, oh hell no. But then we are from two very different generations. The whole therapy, support group, reiki, meditation, essential oils, I won’t even pretend to understand that shit. I can say that as far as the therapy and support group goes, I guess it isn’t much different than me sitting with my buddies at the bar and talking to the bartender. Just you do it without the beer. Concept is pretty much the same though. Back to me being proud of you. You need to let that shit go. You are a smart, caring, kind person. You help others and keep your door open to anyone who needs a place, a hug or just a place to hang out. Your Grammy was that way too.
You take pride in the fact that so many people have told you that you are a lot like me. I want you to think about that for a minute. The people that you know that are like one of their parents, haven’t they spent a good deal of time butting heads with that parent because they are so much alike? I am sure we would have had our share of that. You can be too bull-headed, stubborn and independent for your own damn good. I am sure I would have booted you in the ass a few times.
It is time you move forward. I know you have missed me and that is ok. But it is time to stop using it as a crutch or an excuse to stay stuck. You are a grown-ass woman at this point. You can’t go back and change the past. Hold onto the stories and the love that I gave you while I was there. You still have it in there; just allow yourself to acknowledge it and feel it. I am a part of you and always will be, just like you are a part of your children. Again, would you want them to suffer and stay stuck about something the way you have over my death? No, I know you wouldn’t. You are a good parent and you love your kids, just like I loved you.
I know that somehow you have rationalized that staying stuck and not letting go is a way for you to remain loyal to me. It isn’t what I want. I want you to heal. Yeah life sucks sometimes, I mean hell, look at what all your Grammy went through. You still whining all these years later about the fact that I died when you were a baby doesn’t do anyone any good. It isn’t showing any sort of loyalty to me. That is your twisted thinking. It is time you let me go. I don’t mean forget about me. Let go of the wish that I was still alive or that I had lived longer. Accept my death for what it is. I loved you with my heart and soul while I was there. Just like you want your kids to carry your love for them in their hearts and souls long after you are gone, the same goes for me.
I will agree with you, it sucks that we didn’t get to spend more time together. But yet again, all the holding on, dreaming, wishing, hoping isn’t going to change the reality of what happened.
Let me go, and move forward with your life. Know that I love you, always have and always will. I am proud of you. You have gone through some shit and yet you still have compassion for others. You are a Bechdel through and through. We are a hearty bunch, strong and resilient. Don’t ever forget that. It is ok to let go. There is no shame in that. I know you aren’t letting go of me and even if you were, I am still not letting go of you. I am still a part of you.
I love you,
Dad

“Do you have any sage advice for me ” my friend asked after we discussed a beautiful solo act of spoken word combined with the playing of the Harp. The talented performer is a woman named Amanda Peckler. I thought about my friends question, taken aback with honor – and a bit of imposter syndrome.

My head spun with the amount of answers I could say; I gave so many answers to his one question, I could not even remember what I said.

“I envy your way of thinking,” he said.

“You admire it, not envy.”

After sincerely crediting my mentors for the ability to think the way I do, I explained:

“Most of the time, we can try what we envy:

Next time you envy someone for their talent, change it to admiration.

Inevitably you are going to struggle the first time; just remember:

Even the advanced were once beginners.

You’ve been my shadow for as long as I can remember, lurking in the corners of my mind, whispering doubt, exhaustion, and fear into every crevice of my soul. You’ve made yourself at home in my thoughts, convincing me that stillness is safety, that failure is inevitable, and that I am nothing without you.

But I see you now. I see how you twist my reflection, how you tangle my dreams in barbed wire, how you drag your fingers through my happiness just to watch it unravel. I hear the lies you tell me—that I’m not good enough, that I’ll never change, that I should just give up. And I won’t pretend your voice isn’t loud. It is. Some days, it’s all I hear.

But guess what? I’m still here. I’m still writing, still fighting, still daring to want more than the prison you’ve tried to build around me. You’ve stolen too many moments, too many dreams, too many days where I could have felt joy but instead felt only your weight pressing down on my chest.

So, I’m making something clear today: You don’t get to win.

I won’t say you’re gone, because I know you’re always lurking. But I will say this—I am learning to live around you, despite you, and in defiance of you. Every time I write, every time I create, every time I move forward even when you’re clawing at my ankles, I am reclaiming myself.

You are not me. You are something I carry, something I battle, but you do not define me.

I do.

And I choose to keep going.

Sincerely,

Me

Sixty paces—the distance between the wear marks on the porch windowsill
to the stone coping beneath the cherry blossoms.

From cold, wet nose kisses, punctuated by toe taps,
to the pungent pansies that now adorn his earthly bed.

Four feet—forty-eight inches—the space from his head to my lap.

Yet—when I close my eyes, I’m met by his tender gaze.
I feel the weight of his head, the damp jowls,
the velvet of his coat against my skin.

His warmth—lifting the weight of the day.

A kindred spirit, whose friendship I never questioned.

Sixty paces—a heart-rending farewell,
and a heartfelt hope: “I’ll be seeing you.”

april 21
a journal on fulfillment
unfortunately, I have spent a great deal of my thoughts on the ponderance of what it means to be fulfilled. how we quantify it, test it, live it. most of my 11:11 wishes wish for fulfillment. I know I’m not supposed to give away what I wish for, but that’s not all of it. I’ll keep the rest a secret. I’m under the belief that the majority of people die unfulfilled. the sole thought of going hungry, going broke, going homeless, terrifies people more than the feeling of never finding anything they are passionate about, never falling in love, never feeling like themselves, never feeling as if they’re living out their truth.

I fear both.

but I fear never following my passion more. it’s scary to know that money has to be earned and there is no task I currently wish to do in exchange for cash. purpose is so subjective yet as a society, I feel we have found a way to objectify purpose and place it in a see-through box to be displayed. everyone is looking at you, the pressure is on. inside the box, you must do what is subjectively providing a value that has money as currency. I’d rather have fulfillment as currency, get paid in love, joy, contentment, on my own terms. I choose to validate my inner truths rather than suppress them as I believe everyone ought to spend enough of their life digging deep enough within to understand who they are. instead of letting the world tell you. the world tells everyone who to be when they listen to it. but your soul will tell you who to be if you choose to listen to yourself. I think you can only hear yourself when you allow enough quiet, the only thing you can hear is your own production of thoughts, ones that were not placed in your brain externally but created in original form, strictly for your own acknowledgement.

I think a lot of people fear the quiet because they do not like to face the truths of self. most people are numbing themselves with alcohol, drugs, smoking, hooking up with strangers, partying, everyone seems to have a vice. it’s socially acceptable, even. but what is the true motive behind all of these? most people are deeply uncomfortable with the thoughts that arise when they allow enough silence in order for them to do so. and everything has a cost. everything is an energy exchange, for good or for bad.

when I was in the worst mental position I have ever been in, I hated being alone. I wanted to fill every silence, spend as much time with others, and numb all my thoughts with drinking, partying, or even eating. we find comfort externally to mask the internal turmoil we are destined to feel at some point in our lives. but acceptance of the good and the bad will allow the upheaval of the bad. as when you accept the dark parts of you, you shine a little light on them. over time, they transform to light. you can create life from death. there is renewal in endings. there is a golden nugget in everything that sucks. but if you spend too much time ignoring the darkness, you will never know how well the light within you shines.

it’s so easy to follow a path and I wish there was one that made sense for me to follow. it would allow be much easier. but I feel as if I have gotten too comfortable with the depths of myself that I can never go to a surface level to complete a mission not created by the innerworkings of my soul. I’m too deep into the acknowledgement of who I am to skip over, neglect, those parts of me. whatever I end up doing in life has to touch my soul in some way. and maybe that will allow me to open up as a vessel of light to others. or maybe it will only go as deep as to shine through myself, never reach anyone. I think my purpose will someday reach others through myself, but maybe it won’t.

nonetheless, in order to feel as if you have a reason to live, you have to feel like you are fulfilling a purpose or achieving something. that looks different for everyone. but in general, working towards any sort of goal provides meaning in your daily life. I truly believe those who take their own life felt as though day to day life was not fulfilling. they felt as if everything they were working towards had no meaning, a complete lack of passion or care for how they were spending their time. the exchange of their time was not providing any sort of deeper satisfaction. a complete lack of satisfaction. that’s why I think even people who are depressed, when they are working towards something, never switch over to being suicidal. because they have a reason to be alive every day. I have met a handful of people in my lifetime who have openly admitted to being suicidal in their life at some point. and they said the reason they never did it was because they felt like they still had some sort of reason to be alive. for some people, they started training for something like a marathon or even just a weight loss journey, and every day, it gave them a reason to be alive. some people have a pet they have to feed every day; and if not them, the pet would not be alive. or they have a promotion they are working for, and it gives them purpose day to day.

but the key to this point is that you have to like what you’re doing, feel as though it is fulfilling a part of you that has been empty. people who feel directionless, or as if they are fulfilling someone else’s dream are more likely to be depressed, or even suicidal. that’s why the distinction of the soul’s desires from worldly placement is astronomically important.

we actually have a very long life to live and that often gets ignored in the urgency of chasing money. motives have been skewed to the value you can provide for others rather than the value you can find within yourself.

the debate I have been internally struggling with for some time is whether or not my personal fulfillment is worth the potential external failure. on the outside looking in, dropping everything and going broke to do the Camino de Santiago sounds reckless and a waste of time. but my purpose comes from soul searching, spending time with the Creator, and feeling within myself. the woods are my element and the answers of what it means to be human, for me at least, exist within them. walking every day from Albergue to Albergue will provide my purpose. and mine alone. for I claim my own direction. while walking every day provides no benefit for the world around me, the world inside me will be nurtured in a way money cannot buy.

that’s the problem, we focus on the things money can buy. we assign value in what can be purchased by paper we earned in exchange for our time. we are told not to focus on anything else as most people feel like spending time delving into the significance of human existence has no real intrinsic value. as they fear the confrontation of any spirituality. but I would argue the sole reason we are here is to uncover all the parts of our soul that are flooded with meaningless jargon pressured upon us as a distraction from who we really are and why we’re here.

when we leave the earth behind, you’ll die with all the things you have acquired. and if you spent a lifetime creating a soul that will ever last death, your fear of death will evaporate. but those finding fulfillment in chasing wealth and materialistic things to quantify, will fear death, likely laying on their deathbed thinking of all the things they should have done, the things that once mattered to them that perhaps had no external, objective value.

when I look back on the 24 years I’ve lived thus far, all my most rewarding and valuable moments have not earned me any money or have provided me with anything tangible. they have all been moments that I felt my soul was nurtured. that’s what life is all about. nurturing our soul and dying with moments that live on.