It’s hard to just be here sometimes. My mind races to the past or the future, making it tough to feel grounded.
Sometimes I find myself standing at the edge, touching the cold water as it laps against my hands, trying to force a stillness while a rushing tide of thoughts keeps crashing in. Even so, moments of connection and quiet faith bring me back to the present, offering a steady anchor when the ground feels shaky. Yet anxiety, pain, and fear can still cloud those moments.
I remind myself that everything changes, which makes those seconds more precious, and focusing only on what I control brings solidity. There’s a quiet awareness that time is moving forward, and knowing this will likely be my last birthday makes the weight of it all feel immense. I’m missing people I love who are no longer here, and looking back with a few regrets.
Yet beneath the ache of it all, I just want to cherish every single moment I possibly can. I’m having trouble dealing with it, and honestly, I’m just scared. I know I have to own the responsibility for this life of mine—steering through the fear, carrying my choices, my history, and my path all at once. I have all the knowledge, all the philosophy, faith, and routines, but right here in the thick of it, I just don’t know how to put any of it into action.
Still, for right now, I’m just trying to let myself feel it and stay right here. Breathing with the water, one second at a time; for today, the water holds me, and that is enough.