I was staring up at the sky after work today.
Not searching for anything in particular, just tired.
Sunlight always seems to drain me, even on the best days. And today was one of the best. I had a great shift, met some wonderful people. Laughed. Connected. It felt good to be human.
But as I carried my equipment across the sand, I was annoyed.
Heavy, tired. Ready to be done.
Then I looked up and it all melted away.
I mean really melted away.
The frustration, the fatigue, even the part of me that always seems to stay clenched no matter how good the day was.
And suddenly, I broke.
Right there, on the beach, under that impossible California sky.
Indiana doesn’t usually get credit for beauty. But its sunsets are quiet miracles. So, my standards are high in that regard.
But today in central California? It stopped me cold.
Stopped me in that way where time slows down and you realize, I almost missed this. I started crying, heavy crying. Right there.
This moment.
This job.
This beach.
This life.
I almost missed it. And it’s uncomfortable to say all the ways I mean that.
But standing there, knees soft and heart cracked open, all I could do was witness.
The glory. The greatness. The reminder.
It flipped me back into gratitude so fast it felt like whiplash.
And I welcomed it.
The truth is, a lot of things didn’t go as planned.
A lot of things I’m still holding onto.
Some days, moving on feels impossible.
I’m trying, really trying, to do what’s right. For everyone. Not just for me.
And somewhere along the way, I gave up control of my own life.
I stopped deciding and started surrendering.
To energy. Vibes. The stars. The grand design. A higher power. God. Gods.
Something bigger than me.
Anything but me.
And oddly, that feels okay.
Because I’m learning that maybe my purpose isn’t to have or to take or to achieve.
Maybe it’s just to be.
And to give.
To offer what I can with open hands, and trust that what’s meant for me will find me, whether I chase it or not.
I’m trying so hard to stop reaching.
To stop begging the world for more.
To look at what I have, really look at it, and let that be enough.
And all of that came from the sky.
From a sunset that reminded me I still get to be here.
That I still have the chance to try again.
That I didn’t miss it, not all the way.
I’m so grateful for the love I receive.
For the support. For the small miracles disguised as conversations and sunsets and breakdowns on beaches.
I’m grateful for my experiences, the good and the brutal.
Because they brought me here.
And here is where I get to rebuild.
Into someone I want to be.
Someone I can be proud of.
