A small shadowy figure of a girl stumbles out of her house, and quickly paces through her backyard. The lawn hasn’t been cut but she still treads through barefoot without a care. To others around her she seems disheveled, even slightly scary. She heads towards the darkest corner and peers over her raggedy fence and caught a nice gaze at the sky. “Ahhhh, no clouds tonight” she happily told herself.
What this means for Jaria, is she can do her thing now finally. No obstructions tonight. She closes her eyes and throws a nice calming frequency tone on in the background. Takes a deep breath and then asks for guidance from within. She realizes that way too much suffering has been occurring for far too long. Past, present, and future if nothing changes. Her focus starts tuning in and here come all her higher thoughts. She calmly reaches for her blue selenite crystal because she remembers the moon will recharge it. A special friend from the Unkechaug Tribe told her this tip many years ago. She keeps paying attention to her breathing, and the breaths get longer, fuller and somehow even more fulfilling. She stretches out every part of her body, then says ok “RELEASE”!
Nothing major or dramatic seems to have occurred. Atleast not instantly that is….Jaria lightly starts humming and moving her legs around. She remembers stories as a little girl, and now senses the whispers of her ancestors telling her to dance. See, dancing for her was not just for what you see on television. Dancing was not only part of her culture, it was used for it’s healing properties as well.
We all have energy, and movement causes vibration. Vibration can in turn heal us. Jaria didn’t have many words to speak anymore. She has seen a lot here on Earth. So this is what she must do to remain calm and strong if there is to be any future hope left in humanity.
Dancing somehow holds the key which is put into a doorknob and when she turns it-she’s granted access to somehow release all of her hidden emotions. She can somehow feel a sense of control by the mastery of her movements the older she gets.
All of a sudden Jaria isn’t so disheveled and uncharged. Swiftly she notices more, then she has enough self awareness to pick up on her own bad mood and decide to change it. She has no care for the conception of time, monetary items or toxicity. She walks to the beat of her own drum… literally.
Two hours has gone by, and it’s going to take a full nights rest now. This was a lot on Jaria’s soul. But in a good way. She breezes past her neighbors, now seeming light as a feather. Even her neighbors figure she must have gotten some good news or something.
Unfortunately this is a common pattern for our little moon child here. This is what Jaria must keep doing not only for herself, but for all future spiritual creatures alike. May we all find our place in the Universe.
Kelly, this is a sweet and lovely story. I love how Jaria happily does what she needs to do to—dance. Even though it wears her out and takes some effort, she gets it done. Even though it weighs heavily on her little soul, she makes it happen. I am inspired by her determination and light. Thank you for sharing!
The thoughts in my brain are arguing again. The voices come from people I know, to the angels, to demons. It’s as if they know a secret that they only share with me.
I never felt special before. I was just a sheep on my way to the slaughter. When death feels imminent, you welcome it as a release from the monotamy of the daily struggle.
I worked a job before. Before the voices came to guide me. I was just a normal person.
No that I’m in a padded room..all I have are my thoughts intermingling with the voices from above.
They are the astral people, and they have a message. We are all one. That’s why if you hurt someone else, you are really hurting yourself.
We all have to evolve together. No one can leave until we all do.
Can you help me? Can I help myself? To try and rid myself of my past, I must conquer myself.
It is true that, to save the world you must save yourself.
In the cold room, I am but a popsicle contemplating my existence. In the cold. With only a hole in the room to relieve myself. Mental health I call you. Tell me what is real!
“No. No!” “No. No, wait!” I jolt awake. It was just another nightmare. Another one but, the same one I’ve been having for weeks now. I look over and see Penelope, my wife, sleeping soundly. I hear our son cooing in the next room and the candle on my bedside table told me that it was still dark outside but it was the early morning hours.
I take a deep breath to calm my racing heart, shake off the recurring nightmare and go in to tend to my son. He was born 6 months ago and is growing like a weed! I stand over his bassinet that my father made for me when I was born and smile at him. Telemachus looks back up at me and returns my smile. I pick him up and craddle him close to me. I hold him for a moment before putting him back down. I put a finger to my lips and I go to make him an early breakfast of cow’s milk. Penelope’s milk never came in so we bought a couple of cattle so we could feed Telemachus.
I fixed a horn and cloth for him and returned to feed him. It was just barely day break when Penelope woke and found us watching the sun rise in silence. “Odysseus, is he hungry?” I look up at her with a smile. “Oh. Why didn’t you wake me? It was my turn to feed him.” I just shook my head. Telemachus was still nursing but sleeping at the same time. Penelope walks over to us. “Odysseus, give him to me.” I hand him to her, rise from my chair and walk over to the window. She knows something is wrong when I don’t argue with her and when I stay silent with my words.
“Odysseus?” It wasn’t a question but more along the lines of her pushing for an explanation. I take a deep breath and begin: “I had the nightmare again. Only this time, I was holding someone’s infant son over a wall.” She looks at me in shock. “Did you drop him?” Her bright, blue eyes have darkened and her thin red lips have paled. Almost as if she could pictue what I dreamt. I shake my head. “I don’t know. I woke before anything happened.” Telemachus was now fast asleep and Penelope had returned him to his bed. She wraps her arms around me from behind and places her chin on my shoulder.
“It was just a dream. Albeit, a strange and recurring one but, I don’t think it means anything.” Frustrated, I turn from the window and begin pacing around our small company room. “Odysseus, I didn’t mean it like that.” “I know, I just–I don’t know what to make of it. I have mulled it over and over and over and I come up with no explanation as to why I keep having the dream. I’m actually surprised you slept through my yelling throughout the dream.” She has a puzzled look on her face. “Sweetheart, I am a mother to an infant son. Every time he simply coos in his sleep, I wake to make sure he doesn’t need us. I think I would wake to you screaming from your dreams.”
“Wait. You didn’t hear me?” She shakes her head. Her face full with worry and concern. “Odysseus, what’s wrong?” I begin breathing heavily as I come to the realization that I was screaming in the dream and not in reality. “Odysseus?” I shake my head at her. “You’re right. It’s probably nothing.” She nods her head and I walk to her and enwrap her in a hug. As we stand there in the embrace, I think about the first time we met. Her redish brown hair shone in the sun and her eyes were as blue as the ocean. Her skin had darkened from her time in the sun as a child and she and her friends were playing in a small body of water trying to cool themselves in the Summer sun.
They had just come from the Olympic Games and were flirting over the men they saw when I was caught watching them. Her friends cowered and tried to cover themselves but, Penelope invited me to join them. The water was cold but, refreshing and before I knew it, her friends had left us to our vices. (What if Odysseus DIDN’T kill the infant? To be continued. This story was inspired by Jorge Rivera’s Troy Saga currently on Spotify.)
Dearest Readers…This is a fictional story. Any and all characters in this story are purely fictional. Any and all relations to real people is unintended. I hope you enjoy!
I thought I heard music coming from the door. But, I knew better than to go in because he always told me not to. “That’s not a place for little children. Only me and mommy.” There was a certain feeling coming from the door pulling me to it. But I never went in. Until that day.
I had come home from school and my mom was already at work. My dad was home but in the garage where he mainly worked on his off days. I go to the garage to tell him I was home but, he wasn’t there. I looked around the house and found my mom’s purse and phone on the table. I heard music and followed it to the door. “That’s not a place for little children.” My father’s voice echoed in my head but, I wasn’t a child anymore. I opened the door and a blinding light shielded my vision. I kept hearing my name and I went toward the voice. “Rhyla? Can you hear me?” I slowly nodded my head. “Where am I?” The woman sighed and had a smile on her face. “Welcome back. You are in the hospital. You’ve been here for several months. He had a tight hold on you this time didn’t he?”
This story is inspired by those who struggle with mental health each and every day. I am glad you are still here! You have friends and family who love you and people willing to help you feel like yourself again!
The devil showed up today.
Begging for me to slip.
Begging for an invite to myyy show.
Then I thought well shiit
Maybe we should make friends with not only him but our skeletons as well!
You know….the ones inside our closet
We could dance with them, learn their names, perhaps become friends!?
Then we might build the courage
to ask them to leave But at that point
We can’t ignore the demons.
Yea the ones deep inside.
In Matter of fact
Let’s invite them to coffee or even cocktails. We can discuss hard questions
liike what keeps them here!?
In the mean time we can play hide n seek with the ghosts or jahooties that like to play supernatural jokes on us!?
We can’t let them miss out on the fun
Let’s not forget the boogie man cuz you know he’s probably the most well known
and he might be the one
to call out everyone’s insecurities
Fk it we gotta call up the monsters
whether they’re hiding under our bed
or in the depths of the shadows around you.
We can maybe admit our fears or possibly conquer them by convincing ourselves we aren’t even scared in the first place.
What does a monster look like to you ?!
Is it a thing or an illusion is it human form
or animal like or maybe it’s just a concept
or a feeling?
Sounds like We gonna have a whole damn party after all these invites.
The devil himself, the skeletons, the demons, the ghosts n jahooties and the boogie man pluuuus the monsters.
Or maybe….
that’s not even a party worth hosting.
I heard of a better party
it’s thrown by joy and happiness
and their friends cheer and bliss
I bet that party has better company
we better be cautious of what invites we send out and choose wisely to what party we gonna show up to and host!!
Your fanfiction story is captivating. It’s a reminder to choose our company wisely and strive for joy and happiness. Well done, Shandi! Your creativity shines through. Keep writing and sharing your stories.
A NOTE FROM GRANDMA SOLETA
TO LUJUANA MY BEAUTIFUL GRANDDAUGHTER
This is a fictional story. Any representation of situations or real characters is unintentional. My grandma did visit me after her death. I have spoken with spirits and decided to dedicate this story to all grandmas, moms, and their granddaughters, and women everywhere. We are beautiful. Peace to all. To all my relations.
Dear Lujuana,
We are not promised roses without thorns nor rainbows without rainstorms.
I miss you so much. I am in the light now but was granted temporary leave to write you this letter. You are an incredibly talented and beautiful woman. You lost your creativity for a moment in time, but you will soon receive all the talent and creativity back that a few people who wished you back luck had put a spell on you wishing you homeless, and in dire poverty so they could convince everything and everyone that you are a bad hombre. They lied about you to your friends and acquaintances. The ex-lover wanted to destroy you as a human being out of revenge and hate. In his opinion if you did not want him then you were on drugs and seriously dumb to not have stayed with his lying narcissistic personality. The rejected lover wanted to hurt you and throw you into the dark night of the soul forever, but you, my beautiful granddaughter, did not succumb to their threats of hate and evil intentions to destroy you as a human being. Your ex-lover vowed to destroy you so you would never find love again. He and his cronies laughed at you throwing stones through words and gossip to anyone they encountered to hurt you so deeply hoping you would die or live in darkness, but you, Lujuana, are a child of the Universe. You are surrounded by light and angels.
However, my sweet Lujuana I was allowed to send you guides to watch over you and protect you from his evil intentions to destroy you as a human being.
I want to let you know I love you so much. I know you have had too many broken relationships by wrongdoing men. Even though you are old now, age 74, it is not too late to have a special relationship with an artistic, creative man. I know you say it must be a miracle music man to stroke your breasts and kiss your lips. So, my dear Lujuana you will meet your mystery man like a bump in the night.
I have permission to continue to watch over you by hiring your spirit guides to always be around you to keep you safe.
I am watching you write, create art, and grow into your peace and light and love position as a human being. There are many stories you can write to help others with your stories of fiction, non-fiction, poetry, and photography. Even your little stick figure drawings and your flower drawings are a part of your many gifts given from the Universe.
I wanted to stop by to deliver this message of love, peace, and light. I wish we could text each other as you do your friends in 2024. Despite this I will always be by your side to guide you. Your pop says hi and to let you know that no matter how old you get you are still his baby girl. Your mom, my daughter, has gone into the light and moved on as a reincarnated soul to learn lessons. She loved you very much but died young at age 65 and must reincarnate with her soul into another human body.
I love you my dear Lujuana, and you are protected from all evil intentions of an ex-partner that wished you harm. I know you know that the ex-partner truly kept all your photos to create a dark aura around your life not wanting you to succeed in your career. They no longer have power over your life.
May God, the Universe guide you to be the strong warrior you are to fight for equality for all, LBGTQ rights, women’s rights, gun control, peace, love, light, and understanding.
Be thankful, pray, create roses with and without thorns.
Love,
Grandma Soleta
January 30, 2024
This is a fictional story. Any representation of situations or real characters is unintentional. My grandma did visit me after her death. I have spoken with spirits and decided to dedicate this story to all grandmas and their granddaughters. Peace to all. To all my relations.
Dear Vicki, your letter from Grandma Soleta touched my heart deeply. Despite the challenges you’ve faced, your strength and resilience shine through. You are surrounded by love, light, and the protection of spirit guides. Embrace your creativeness and continue to share your stories with the world. You are a beautiful and talented woman, and it’s…read more
I wrote this poem as an homage to our ancestors, when spirituality came before organized religion, when we viewed the world with wonder, and when we longed for understanding of life and death:
Please bear with me as this is something that I’ve been wanting to do & finally got the courage to do so a freestyle fiction story that has been on my mind.
A child’s core memories develop at 5. Her core memories were not like others. Her core memory was waking up from her sleep as she was in the backseat of a car covered with her dad’s jacket while he was speeding on the freeway. She felt safe seeing her dad and went back to sleep as he told her to do.
She wasn’t going to school, but she went from home to home thinking about what a great time she was having with her dad. She went with the stepmom to be with her siblings. She doesn’t recall how she spent her time there but just the vhs movie that the stepmom threw away. Once dad picked her up, he noticed she was sad. Since her dad asked her what happened, she did just that. Dad said, “Wait in the car. I’ll be right back.” She just knew that her dad was going to take care of it. In her world full of chaos, all she can do was observe. When it felt like she was all, alone she realized that she was always guided and protected.
She went with another stepmom who was just a sweet and caring soul. She treated her right, and she knew, being in her presence, that everything would be just fine.
As I look back into my past actions, I realize that there were things that I should have changed. It’s interesting how so many authors, politicians, philosophers have written about ‘the past’ in relation to our present selves, but we continue to belabor the point. McCarthy states in All the Pretty Horses, that “Scars have the strange power to remind us that our past is real.” Without this reminder, we won’t learn the lessons that the past has taught us, but rather repeat them mindlessly as if we don’t know any better. As I recall my worst mistake, I realize today, that it could have been circumvented by simply communicating clearly. However, if you’re like me, and the problem is within the family, you omit speaking in order to be respectful and not hurt the feelings of those you love.
I’ve also learned, that when you speak your mind and express yourself concisely, you get the result you need: understanding. Without talking, how can others know how you’re feeling, or even how you’re affected by a particular event? Added to that, by discussing the problem, calmly, you get to see the different perspectives that each individual is coming from, rather than assuming you already know. I’ve learned that assuming someone’s motives for an action may be wrong, and that is what leads to greater misunderstandings and conflict.
I think that Katherine Anne Porter says it best, as she expresses it best in saying: “The past is never where you think you left it.” By that she means that with the information, maturity you had at the time, you can grasp a part of the events that occurred. However, in retrospect, having changed, become wiser through various experiences, makes your perspective of the event change with time. Here I don’t mean the actions that took place, but rather the reactions and assumptions that you had made.
I’ll sum up with my poetic version of this:
Communication is a tool
You use to oppress the pool
Of depression, that spawns from regret
Over actions taken in past event.
Couch your speech,
Make it into a delicate flower to preach
Behaviors that promote, compassion,
Understanding, love, and devotion.
Communication is very very important in all aspects. Especially when it comes to self respect. To communicate your feelings is the first step to having a respectful relationship with yourself. Thank you for sharing
Thank you for taking the time to sit with yourself and process your thoughts and feelings. This year, you really took yourself & your ideas seriously. Your perseverance through rejection is admirable and I appreciate you, even when others don’t.
When you lost your job in January- you didn’t beat yourself up.
When the bank funds were low- you leaned on your family for support while pushing through to find a new job.
When you felt broke, busted, and disgusted- you sought wisdom in books, the Bible, and your family.
You manifested cool opportunities & got creative with the tools at your disposal.
To me, you may not be exactly where you want to be, however, you’ve come farther than you expected. You could’ve chosen to listen to well- meaning advice, but you listened to your gut & for that I respect you!
Thank you for being you- which is the hardest thing to do.
I love this letter! You should be so proud of your strength and perseverance. I hope you always remember that whatever challenges you face in life, you have the power to handle it with strength, grace and power.
Thank you so much Lauren! Your feedback is so valuable to me. Thank you for creating this platform and safe space. I look forward to the many more stories/letters/entries I create!!!
I so look forward to them as well. I hope you have a. wonderful thanksgiving if I don’t see this week online. Thank you for being. a part of our family.
Hi. Great letter Victoria. Perseverance in tough times is a trait that not everyone has. Clearly you do. You should be very proud. I hope you have a great thanksgiving 🙂
Hi Jim. Thank you so much! I appreciate your words- I certainly needed to hear them. Persevering still by staying optimistic about the future although I don’t know what’s next. Happy Thanksgiving to you too. 😁🙏🏾
You’re very welcome Victoria. Glad I could help a little bit. An yes the unknown. It’s certainly one of my biggest obstacles. I’m sure for many. But persevering seems like the only choice right?
Thank you. Hope yours is a nice one 🙂
Dear Unsealer,
I am so glad you listened to the voice inside you and followed your heart.Keep going forward and you will have much success in all you do.
Thank you so much Ms. Shelley for your kind words. I truly needed them today. Sometimes the hardest thing to do is to trust ourselves in the face of uncertainty…we have to keep pushing through!
Blessings!! 🙂
A poetic/fictitious mixed short about greeting your melancholy with kindness and making your mind into a nice place to call home.
—–
The autumn flush bashfully comes in during this time of year. Traces of red and orange line the green just enough to give the sense that it might actually get colder than fifty, but it never does. Most of the homes in Tomales are farm-style. Less greek revival, more horse and buggy. Wrap around porches hug the treeline rooftops parallel to an unneeded chimney. Hummingbird feeders hang nectar on every doorstep like there might be a modern day Passover. I once even heard someone call their laundry closet an ‘alcove.’ The neighborhood is literally so pretentious and inviting that you can practically taste Grandma’s cookies underneath a family timeline of Stanford cap and gown photos.
Houses like that are meant to be shared. Mine is just for me.
There was a Victorian on the hill, half a mile south of the city limits. There were rumors about it. Ghost stories that were best left dismissed. With fresco painted ceilings and a view of the bay, I’d blindly bought in. The previous owner even left behind an old piano. I called it a steal.
Economically sound: the only type of echo I’d ever considered when buying the house. The first creaky floorboard fell through while I was carrying in the dishware. Termites. And if that wasn’t enough, the flip of the switch fried the chandelier’s circuit in one go. Ridiculous of me to expect the house to do more than look like the photos.
“Goddamnit.” I collapsed onto the piano bench for the first time. All of my boxes were just inside the hall. The air was stifled by thick humidity. I could feel myself getting sick in the first breath. Nobody had lived here in years. Perhaps no one was meant to.
I’d left the city to learn more about myself. My friends found it a bit extreme: “You’ll be all alone up there, away from the city.” Their voices carry through the thirty-two miles in between us. But, I’d never been alone before. Truly alone. There was always the buzz of life swarming me into a perpetual FOMO. And in some manic-state, I decided to discover the sensational melancholy that William Wordsworth wrote all of those poems about.
On the first night I’d been on the air mattress. That was when I decided that the air quality might be getting to me. Around one in the morning I woke up to the sound of my own floorboards giving in fours. The sounds of a horse. I thought myself to be crazy – exhausted from moving. But, when I peeked out the bedroom door into the hall – I saw it. A ghost-white Shire tiptoeing across the fragile wood.
The next morning, there were the slightest indentations in the floor. So faint, that suggesting a horse might be responsible was insane. Still, I called my mom to tell her the news. She suggested a hallucination remedy, a new brand of air filters, and sent over a list of psychologists – just in case.
Still, the horse visited me. New air filters and all. Nineteen hundred pounds creaking through the halls on four legs. Sometimes when we made late-night eye contact, the horse would spook and kick hind legs into the air. If it weren’t for all of the holes born in the walls – I’d pass it off as delirium. Too frightened to unpack and settle in, and more afraid to abandon the purchase: I’d tell myself one more day. I can do one more day here. And for days, the house remained as it was. Empty and unusable. Every night brought new holes in the hallway walls.
The ninth day, something changed. Call it boredom or insanity, but I went for a walk. The cookie cutter houses allured me in their simplicity. Transformation of a new perspective. With flower beds lining their white picket fences and patio furniture I felt a sense of inspiration to decorate my own lawn. Wandering down the street further, I found myself at the market.
“A single potted plant and a carrot?” The cashier chuckled briefly before a glance at the dark bags sunk under my eyes.
I set my plant up on the porch that day. The only unboxed item in two-thousand square feet. And while the house had a long way to go, it was something pleasant. Something small.
That night I set the single carrot outside my door, in hopes to soothe the fear of the Shire. And to my surprise, I slept through the night. Full of rest, my feet found the floor next to my air mattress and when I opened the bedroom door, the carrot was gone.
In a burst of unwearied energy, I unpacked the first box. Dishware. Some cups and plates chipped from the move, but the functionality remained in tact. I organized them neatly into the cupboard. At the bottom of the box was a glass vase, sized perfect for the window sill in the front hall. After placing it there, I left the house for another walk, this time hunting for the perfect flower.
There weren’t many wildflowers left, especially in such a domesticated area. But, I found one. Maybe nothing more than a weed. Yet, it looked like a daisy to me. It would do just fine.
That night I put the carrot further down from my room, closer to the front entrance and I went to bed, sleeping through another night peacefully. Many days went on like this – another box unpacked, a new plant adorning a canny corner, the horse reappearing at night to come and go. By what means – I do not know. Furniture was arriving. I was off the air mattress and into a real bed by the second week. The tent for the termites came and went – more affordable than I’d predicted. I wrote the check at my window, foliage draped over the glass in a perfect frame.
Yesterday on the phone with my mother, I accidentally called this place home.
It’s late October now. “Finally settling?” I read on the phone screen once more. I woke up early these days, in a routine to water my back porch plants. They’d become more like friends to me. And there the white Shire was, grazing through the green yard. My body paralyzed at first – remembering all of the fear caused. Besides, I’d almost finish patching the holes in the halls. Inching towards the creature, I held out my hand in a white flag.
I stroked the muzzle once. Then again.
***
You finally rested your head on my shoulder, and I named you Casper.
Our moments were never filled with fear again. We understood one another. You ruled acres of land and I had the Victorian. There were still the occasional spooks. Mangled hair and disagreements. But, I no longer lived alone.
Even if I never had to begin with.
***
A year has gone by now. It’s Halloween. And I’ve got Trick or Treaters. Football-sized ghosts and miniature princesses making the long haul up my driveway. The only monster in the house is inflatable, peering out the window next to the vase. The kids love it. So do I.
I baked for them this year, a recipe from Ms. Arnett. She lives in one of the homes off Kennedy – widowed at twenty-nine. We met through our gardens. Nicknamed ‘The Greenhouse’ my plant collection had grown into a jungle. Dutch bulbs lit up the yard in frenzied patterns. I coined myself Queen Wilhelmina, but the kids don’t quite get that one. Ms. Arnett stopped by to chat about an idea she’d had for her tulips. We forgot to finish that conversation, two pots of tea later. We’re always forgetting, it seems.
Casper’s dressed as a reindeer this year. The kids feed her carrots I picked up from the market and she takes them tamely. Gratefully even.
When the night grows late I find myself candle-lit at the piano. A new thing I’m learning. With my shadow dancing off-key to my chorus, I remind myself that I’m learning.
aww You are such a good writes. I love how you describe everything and really give the reader a feel for the environment. Thank you so much for sharing.
Don’t get me wrong, your life is amazing now, and better than you could have imagined, but it is nowhere near the plan you had envisioned. To be fair, your ten-year plan was flawless; Everything so perfectly articulated and not a measure out of place. It truly was a sight to behold. A girl with her head on so straight that the odds couldn’t beat her. She’s a shoe-in for everything she could want out of life. Then, came the kicker.
You didn’t get into your top school. You chose a major you didn’t even think of before. You moved farther away from home than you could have anticipated. And that’s okay.
You had such high goals and ambitions for yourself. You set your sights so high that along the way, it seems you lost yourself amongst the clouds. You roamed around the libraries in your head for too long, I’m afraid. You, my dear, filled your mind with every fact, tidbit, and file of information that nothing else had room to grow in such a vast, but crowded garden. You replaced your insecurities with flashcards, your worries with study guides, and your doubts with extracurriculars after school because being a robot could get you into a good school, but being real and being human could not. You misconstrued friendships for tutoring sessions and took your leadership as a means for control, not guidance. You traded the chance to be a kid for the hopes of being a successful adult.
And then this little thing called a pandemic happened. It was almost as if the world…stopped. Nothing in time mattered more than being present because being present meant that you were with the people you loved. You garnered the ability to love and be loved. You were in the present and realized that time is a present, a gift meant to be opened once and used wisely.
Something changed for you. You learned to let in your emotions and experience life. Many doors closed, but so many gates opened. What you never thought could be attained came flooding to you in an instant.
So, from me to you, I want to say that we’re doing just fine. You prepared me for the ‘what-if’s’ and infinite and endless possibilities that could have arisen. So now, I can prepare for our future. The future where we pursue our goals, but we also make friends along the way. The future where we love and let go. The future where you grow, and I grow with you. I, in your place, will prepare us for the portion of life where we live, and live boundlessly and blissfully. The portion of life where you, my dear, live, and live a thousand lives after because to be alive and live your life is the best present of them all. I’ll do my best to make you the happiest you’ve been and the proudest you’ll be because whether you believed it or not, you deserved to live too.
This is so well-written and so well said. I am someone who also gets caught up in plans and goals and sometimes forgets to enjoy the moment. I am glad the pandemic gave you a perspective that allowed you to enjoy life and the people you love. Someone once told me 2020 led her to 2020 vision. Sounds like something similar happened to you. Thank…read more
Life never goes the way we want it to go. It’s like a roller coaster where every time we go up in the world we tend to fall. Sometimes the Destiny we seek the destinies of our own accord but God tends to have something else planned for us. Just like you I’ve attended college for something I wanted at the beginning but found a different cal…read more
Salutations,
Your letter has a powerful message and lesson written in it. I find it disappointing when plans don’t come to fruition but, I find myself enjoying living in the moment and it makes me realize that my plans probably wouldn’t have been half as fun as living presently. We forget that, especially overachievers and planners. I suppose,…read more
WOW, I love how well-written your letter is. Thank you so much for shedding light on a lesson I’m currently learning. Remaining in the present while planning on what changes will lead to my success is something I am practicing. I’m learning that without balance I take on a lot at once without giving myself the grace to take care of myself. It’s…read more
I resonate with this. I have 3 children and often times I’m so focused on keeping the at bay that I can’t seem to savor the moment. Thank you for sharing.
Kelly, this is a sweet and lovely story. I love how Jaria happily does what she needs to do to—dance. Even though it wears her out and takes some effort, she gets it done. Even though it weighs heavily on her little soul, she makes it happen. I am inspired by her determination and light. Thank you for sharing!
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Thanks Emma!! Dancing has helped me in real life too xoxox
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