Pain keeps me grounded, forcing me to focus on each breath. It’s a reminder that my body is alive, that my neck, back, and jaw are still here, holding me together.
Change stirs something deeper. It peels back the layers, showing me who I truly am—what I fear, what excites me, and how those shape my thoughts and reactions.
In stillness, I hear the quieter parts of myself. Gratitude rings louder in those calm moments, and the love in my heart feels fuller, more alive.
All of these—pain, change, stillness—collide at once, and it’s overwhelming. But I’m learning to react less, to sit back and observe before acting. The waiting, the not-knowing, is heavy. It’s hard to sit in the unknown.
Yet, looking back, the unknown has always brought the best parts of my life. Moving to a new country, switching careers, facing a life-or-death diagnosis—these were all leaps into uncertainty, and they shaped me. Now, I’m staring at another unknown: Will I keep my job? Where will I be? What will I do next?
I have choices to make.
Option one: Stay with my current job, return to the office in Atlanta, buy a house, keep the steady paycheck. It’s the safe path, the known, the “secure”.
Option two: Don’t go back to the office. Risk being let go and figure things out as I go. It’s the unknown, and it’s terrifying. Can I still manage my mortgage? Will I be okay? This path excites me, sparks something alive in me. But there’s a voice in my head calling it reckless, irresponsible. Deep down, I know that voice isn’t true, but it’s loud. Trusting life—fully trusting it—is a test. A big one.
The emotions come in waves, like a rollercoaster. One moment, I’m caught in the churn of fear and doubt; the next, there’s a quiet calm, a knowing that everything will be okay.
Oh, life. It’s like all the waves in the ocean, every kind crashing together at once, and yet it’s beautiful. Stay present, trust that this too shall pass in the vertical dimension, and see where life takes me.
