Tag Archives: gratitude

2023: A Year in Review- So Very Mortal

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The Innards of the Happiness Jar 2023

These last few days past Christmas have been wet and dreary in Atlanta. It feels like the appropriate way to wind down the year. I opened my annual happiness jar yesterday to properly reminisce on the gifts and trials of 2023. In March, I introduced my principles for living joyfully and my new bike, Luna. Two months later, in my previous post, I discussed my ambulance ride from downtown to Grady Hospital. While it has been a wild year, my happiness jar is a small practice that reminds me how to find gratitude and reflect through the year. This year, alongside my bike, I held incredible moments of kindness and tough soul-shaping pains in the same breath.

In spring 2023, I had a series of cycling firsts. I finally tried (supported) bike camping with the Atlanta Cycling Festival. In that week of their trip to Rockmart, Georgia, I met my peak week distance maximum at around 100 miles. In March, I took my first bike-based birthday ride for Borith on his BeltGrind route. Ride joy is contagious, and it carried me to lead an April ride to my favorite Indian plaza in Decatur. Then, in mid-May, a cycling accident took me off the road. It was an abrupt reminder and wake-up call. We are so very mortal. The loss of independence during the following eight weeks in a wheelchair was transformative. The combined inability to care for myself, prepare meals, or write was challenging.

My Aunt Shampoos My Hair

In response, I had a beautiful outpouring of support and compassion from my community, friends, and family. My favorite aunt, Sheru, made a surprise visit to Atlanta from Toronto to get me from Grady. She later helped me bathe and read Urdu poetry to me. Just a month later, she suffered a stroke. Now, her motor functions and language abilities are a little different. When I visited her in November, I tried to reciprocate warmth to her. Already aware of the dilemmas of diabetes and heart disease in my family history, I am even more attuned to the requirements for preventive medicine. My concern about holistic health has grown firmer.

Good health begins inside the body. Not long after addressing my physical injuries, I proactively sought the help of a therapist. I learned to carry the simultaneous gratitude for support along with patience during my temporary disability. Discussions with my therapist have highlighted the beauty of slowing down and bringing compassion to myself. Again, this reminds me that the first component of health is having the right mindset. A senior member of my care team noted that your self-image can benefit your healing. As I see myself as an outdoors lover, I was motivated to return to operating under the power of my limbs.

Ice Cream for Hearts and Healing

Community is the second component of my health and has been the best miracle of this year. My expedited recovery is thanks to the benevolent energies and grace carried through my cycling community. People I did not know well checked in on me. Friends visited, brought me meals, and transported me to appointments. I am getting by this year with a LOT of help from my friends. Through many deep conversations, I am reminded how interwoven our lives are. As I shared my concerns, others shared their hearts. We are now woven closer together. Healing really does happen in community.

Community Love

Finding and enjoying meaningful work has been incredibly arduous this year. I supported a progressive, community-based developer for a short contract this year. In the happiness jar, I recalled a February public comment I gave at the Dekalb County Commissioners meeting. I had the chance to complain about the Dekalb Police Department and express my disdain for Cop City in one truth-to-power moment. In other joy, I led a bike-sharing theme camp at Alchemy, our regional burn. Through this community project, I got to spread the joy of riding, and advance the cause of adventure.

BBBBikes Camp at Alchemy 2023

An important part this year was the continued efforts at writing. My focus shifted from UpStreamRose to a series of emails via Substack. While my right wrist was broken, the difficulty in writing became an unexpected gift. I started feeling bloated with words and feelings when I could not hold a pen. It was a reminder to keep at this craft. Thanks to voice-typing applications, I kept some writing going. I have been grateful as people have connected with me through conversations via writing. Through these interactions, I sense we have collectively drawn ripples of awareness and expansion in 2023.

Magic Is Something You Make

I punctuated the year on Christmas Eve with a bike ride for Palestine. I still feel shocked that so many Americans cannot acknowledge that this country is funding genocide in Gaza. This horror is happening before our digital-and-always-connected eyes. A global collective awakening pushes Americans to realize that they are on the wrong side of history. With some invitations to holiday parties and seasonal festivities, I look forward to hugging friends and celebrating the end of 2023. Ultimately, I am happy to tuck the horrors and humanity of 2023 into hopes and efforts for a smoother and kinder 2024.

 

From The Isolation Journals

Meet the Sky-Blue Luna: On Joy as a Guiding Principle For Life

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Day 1 with Luna

World: meet Luna, my celestial blue bike. If you follow my Instagram, you know I am enthusiastic about riding in Atlanta. So as a Valentine’s Day gift to myself, I splurged on new wheels. Physically, the bike elevates my power on rides. Spiritually, the bike is a conduit for joy. And, well, Luna is beautiful. As I ride, weaving around potholes and through alleys, I am grateful for the time I made for frolicking in the city. When I ride with a group, I sense camaraderie with other cyclists. Post-cruise, my endorphins run high, and I feel invigorated. In this way, adding the bike Luna to my life is an act of nurturing joy.

 

I believe we are in a constant state of becoming our true selves. Therefore, I experiment with myself to hone in on what vibes with me at a deeper level. Many self-growth writers focus on how to correct imperfections. Instead, my approach is to double down on the good stuff. First, I use bliss as my bellwether, and then I lean in. I pay attention to my feelings and then create opportunities to encounter JOY. For example, in 2017, when I decided to move to Tokyo, I followed my joy of travel. While there, I connected with others developing a transnational identity. Being abroad helped me highlight that elemental sense of who I am and brought me closer to encounters with joy. From this and many life lessons, I pursue opportunities for joy as my guiding life principle.

What Joy?

Before going on, let me try the imperfect art of definition. Joy is neither happiness nor bliss. But it is somehow related to both. In Atlas of the Heart, Dr. Brené Brown suggests: “Joy is sudden, unexpected, short-lasting, and high-intensity. It is characterized by connection with others, or with God, nature, or the universe. Joy expands our thinking and attention, and it fills us with a sense of freedom and abandon.”

Joy, then, is like catching a warm ray of sun and appreciating it. Nurturing joy is not simply falling into hedonism. It is more aligned with being an Epicure. It is pausing and enjoying the good things in life with balance and in stride. It is setting the stage for magic. If, as Dr. Brown suggests, joy is fleeting, how can we plan to have more joy in our lives?

White Roses for a Blue BIke

Cultivating Joy

It has taken me years to learn how to integrate joy into my life. It is an inexact art, but I know it begins with the capacity to listen inwards. Here are three practices that have helped me cultivate and follow joy in life:

  1. The Happiness Jar

Over the course of a year, take note of the moments that brought you gratitude. Write them down on a little slip of paper and stick them in the jar. Then, at the end of the year, read and remember those moments. Along the way, you learn what to prioritize.

Last week, for example, a friend of mine reached out because she was in my area, and we went to lunch. It turned into a whole day of hanging out. I added a note about her lovely surprise visit to my happiness jar. Later on, when I reminisce, I will remember how important it is to have unscheduled time for such chance encounters.

Research shows an intriguing link between joy and gratitude (see, again, Atlas of Heart). The trait of gratitude predicts more fantastic future experiences of in-the-moment joy. Joy predicts further experiences of in-the-moment gratitude. And dispositional or situational joy predicts greater future subjective well-being.

Thus, I recommend paying attention to happiness. Over time, this adds to my well-being.

The contents of my 2022 happiness jar

  1. Growing Awareness

Becoming aware of your inner reaction requires silencing outside noise. In that way, we can focus on what resonates with us through sensitivity to perceptions, sensations, and feelings. Awareness helps us notice the beautiful moments in life. Meditation helps grow awareness. Awareness, along with attention, is like a muscle. The more we practice it, the stronger it gets.

  1. Pause to stay with it

My lesson for the joyous moments is to pause and allow the good feelings to sink in. It is a bit like making tiramisu. You place all the good things together. But the most challenging step is to avoid eating it right away once you stack the layers. The best tiramisu hangs and soaks goodness overnight. Then, you have tiramisu infused adequately with patience and deliciousness.

If I am alert to good feelings, I pause consciously to stay with the aura. I might even hold my hand to my heart as if holding the moment close to me.

  1. Practice Opening Your Heart

If all of this is foreign, and you struggle to find joy and happiness, I suggest a mini 12-week course from Julia Cameron. Her book, The Artist’s Way, explores activities to discover your inner creativity. The lessons are not limited to would-be artists. Her lessons are designed to open your heart and senses to learning what makes you feel burning with aliveness. The book combines practices, essays, and quotes bound to ignite our buried inner selves.

Joy Riding

Who Needs Joy?

In Desert Solitaire, American wilderness enthusiast and social critic Edward Abbey wonders why desert frogs sing in the rain.

“Has joy any survival value in the operations of evolution? I suspect that it does; I suspect that the morose and fearful are doomed to quick extinction. Where there is no joy there can be no courage; and without courage all other virtues are useless. Therefore the frogs, the toads, keep on singing even though we know, if they don’t, that the sound of their uproar must surely be luring all the snakes and ringtail cats and kit foxes and coyotes and great horned owls toward the scene of their happiness.”

Though it is dangerous, frogs sing, Abbey, surmises it is because they celebrate life. I agree. When we focus on joy, it inspires and moves us. Nurturing joy is an act of self-love and celebration. Being true to yourself and perfecting your love of yourself can be a challenge. Honing in on and growing my inner self through the sharp lens of joy is an antidote to the ups and downs of life. Joy is not only a barometer for the capacity to enjoy life; it is a time-tested route on the path of spiritual enlightenment.

From Joy to Enlightenment

The ancient Hindu wisdom of Sat Chit Ananda reminds us that our bliss, Ananda, is a route to enlightenment. While the world sells us images of external sources of gratification, we can naturally develop a nagging sense of lack. On top of this, modern lifestyle changes add to a growing sense of social isolation. Together, these trends push people away from their inner knowledge. As we make opportunities to learn from joy, we move toward a higher bliss. We rejoice in knowing we always have the capacity for joy, peace, and light.

Joy, then, is the surprise appreciation we develop when magic comes from the mundane. It is at the heart of doing something new, going on an adventure, or a chance meeting with an old friend. On rainy days I find myself longing for the next bit of sunshine. As the sun returns, I take Luna out. Along the way, I will encounter the Phoenix’s rebirth in Atlanta, flora and fauna of the city, the power of my body, and new roads to travel. My heart sings, and my spirit soars over these blue handlebars. Luna and I become adventure partners on a joint joy journey.

A Bridge I Had Not Crossed

Italy in the Rear View, Reminiscing to Fully Enjoy Travel: Part 3 of 3

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Teatro Alla Scala: Closed

In early March 2020, I found myself unwittingly in Milan as the pandemic lockdowns began there. I completed a three-week adventure through southern Italy, and Milan was the last stop on my way back to Japan. My former beau and I flew from Sicily to Milan on a Saturday, the last day domestic flights were allowed into Milan. Two days later, we were meant to fly to Tokyo. Those strange and glorious days left a memorable impression. Many other tourists had left Milan when the city-wide lockdown took effect. As we toured the city on bikes, Milan felt quiet and subdued. At that time, I had no idea that cross-border travel would become much more difficult. Three weeks after I arrived in Tokyo, the U.S. Embassy there sent out an ominous message asking Americans to either leave Japan or plan on staying in Japan indefinitely.

Take My Breath Away, Amalfi Coast

 

During this pandemic, then, I have been doing less suitcase packing and a bit more contemplation. I am grateful for my past adventures within this window of less moving. I mindfully re-live and rejoice in old travels. I am convinced that this capacity to feel gratitude is directly related to our ability to enjoy life in general. After my most meaningful trips, I am grateful for new experiences, intriguing trinkets, new human connections, and the chance to learn a new perspective. For me, this is the third way to enjoy travel fully. As I reflect and reminisce on travels past, I appreciate: (1) moments of surprise, (2) physical mementos, (3) human connections, and (4) perspectives gleaned. This after-adventure pause, with mindful gratitude, is a life-affirming practice.

Shortly after I returned to Tokyo from Italy, the Japanese began to take the pandemic seriously. I was asked to work from home. Social events went on hiatus. Restaurants closed early. Bars were completely shuttered; music venues went mute. With nowhere to go for a while, I reflected on my glorious Italian experience. I had planned well and found flow in my time in Italy. Now, I was in my third phase of travel joy: the remembrances.

 

1. Cherish Moments of Surprise

On this trip to Italy, I traveled with my British beau (the first boyfriend to join me abroad). On a few occasions, I observed our styles were different. I could eat at any time; he seemed never to get hungry. Eventually, Italian food broke his restraint. But our first (and only) spat during dating was based very squarely on the capacity to enjoy the moment.

Boat Joy

After insisting that we should watch the sunset from the island of Syracuse (as opposed to returning to our Airbnb so he could send emails), a tense yelling match ensued. Finally, we agreed. We would NOT leave before the sunset. After this, he bought me a truce-gelato, and we walked along an ancient bridge toward a marina in the old town. By pure luck, my eye caught a boat captain rigging a small vessel to take out into the water. I inadvertently smiled at the captain, and he smiled back. Then, he signaled us over to join his voyage. In retrospect, this unplanned boat ride was one of the highlights of our trip. After our domestic tension, a boat ride was just the salve we needed. The captain was taking another couple around the island and into a few caves. We luckily tagged along. This memory ended up being one of our favorite moments. It reminded us how important it is to keep the eyes and the heart open during travel (and also in life).

2. Momentos & Knick-Knacks

Over the years, I have moved between many homes and apartments. Carrying about your things is an excellent reminder that less is more. When I travel, I tend to pack light. As a minimalist, I have become much more selective about the trinkets I bring home. From significant to small, my main criterion is that the item is relevant to the local culture. Eiffel tower key chains do not meet my definition. In some places, a sticker feels more appropriate than a knick-knack!

No Pineapple on Pizza
Reading Materials
Feminist Health
Amalgamation

Naples Takes Art Seriously

One of my favorite things to pick up is local art. In Italy, there is no shortage of local arts and crafts. In Naples, hip street art adorns dilapidated buildings. Along a pedestrian path, we saw an artist selling her watercolor paintings. Both my boyfriend and I loved the style of her work. He purchased an image for each of us. Her work was unique, and I began to follow the artist on Instagram. This way, I could see the artist’s progression and keep a loose connection with our chance encounter.

Mermaid Floating in Frame

On the day before our return to Japan, I also picked up a pair of suede boots in Milan. Each time I wore them in Tokyo. I was grateful for the small splurge. Now that I am in Atlanta, I have framed my Napoli mermaid with blue and gold. In this small way, I remember my adventures. Both the boots and the art were chance purchases. Still, they have now morphed with meaning. It reminded me how lovely it was to prance around Italy before the pandemic changed our world.

 

3. Human Connections

“Do not talk to strangers” is easily the worst advice I have ever heard. Whether traveling, at a networking event or doing mundane errands, I love chatting with people. Many former strangers are now my friends. I believe each individual holds some unique perspective within them; it is a matter of talking through their reservations. Thus, when I travel, I become slightly more extroverted. I want to connect with locals and hear the inside scoop. In some instances, even after I have left a place, some of those human connections keep me in touch with an adventure.

Our Dinner Came from a Generous Heart

A caring stranger met us at lunch on our last full day in Milan. For our final restaurant meal in Italy, we went to a back-to-basics lunch café. Handmade pasta and simple ingredients with a classic feel were on the menu. As we chatted with the waitress, we learned we were her only foreign tourists in the last two weeks. We expressed our surprise about the lockdown and learned from her that restaurants in Milan would be closed after that afternoon. Our waitress inquired about the amenities at our hotel. She was genuinely worried about what we would have for dinner. On our way out, she gifted us dinner to go. She separately packed a container of pasta, marinara sauce, and fresh basil to prepare at our Airbnb. Her kindness and dedication left a warm glow. I followed her restaurant on Facebook afterward. Unfortunately, the café ended up closing down during the pandemic. But her act of kindness left long reverberations.

4. The Exchange of Ideas

The most important reason I love to travel is that I return to my `default` life with a changed perspective. For example, I learned a whole new way to live in Tokyo. For the first time ever, I found city living enjoyable! My quality of life was enhanced by being car-free. My lifestyle with a smaller home and more recycling was more sustainable. I left Japan eager to reform American car bloat and with a desire to promote pluralism through better design.

 

War Torn and Proud Naples

 

While my visit to Italy was much shorter, I still left with new ideas about thoroughly enjoying life. Naples, for example, was war-torn after WW2 and yet, it still holds on to the pride of its days of glory. Buildings partially destroyed stand tall. Graffiti, murals, and posters decorate and scream with fight and spirit. In the small town of Sapri, I noticed how couples walked the promenade in the late afternoon. They elevated the act of watching the sky change colors dressed in their Sunday best. In Milan, though restaurants were closed, Italians could not be separated from their pizza. A line of cyclists’ couriers waited for takeout orders in front of pizzerias.

Sweet Memories

This practice of keeping good memories in the front of our minds is a key to getting through tough times. Nostalgia, recollection, and appreciation can be a nourishing afterglow of travel. I have often noticed that good memories are essential for keeping us upbeat. In many moments, my moods ebb and flow. Having pleasant and meaningful travel memories makes looking forward to better days easier. Between frequently depressed people and those more resilient to the changing tides, I notice this capacity to reflect and enjoy the past. It is a practice I have keyed into and one I aim to hone.

 

Thank you for reading. May your travels also bring you sweet recollections.

The Early Atomic Habits: Self-Growth in Lent & Ramadan

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We are a few weeks into 2022, and amid scary war-driven headlines, pandemic aftershocks, and the demands of everyday life, the majority of us have walked away from any New Year’s resolutions. While it is easy to lose short-term hope for peace, positivity, and progress, I know that the best changes unravel slowly. Global human rights progress and even everyday cooking benefit from small efforts towards a larger positive purpose. A slow-cooked risotto, a gently raised child, and a delicately watered plant thrive from a patient approach. Our personal habits, too, grow from our desire to make our lives just a little bit better, a little bit different day after day.

Big Changes from Small Steps Instead

Habit Hacking

We are not generally content with the way our lives are; our self-help book craze reflects this desire for change. Last year, the book Atomic Habits was a best-seller. Before that, The Power of Habit. The whole idea of small changes is not new. We are now a few days into the month of Lent. While I do not subscribe to any religion, I am always open to practices that encourage self-development. During the month of Lent, Catholics give up some-X-thing in the name of God. That X can be something well-loved, like chocolate or mindless swearing, or it could be alcohol. The practice reminds me of the few times I practiced fasting during the Islamic month of Ramadan.

What do Lent & Ramadan have in common? First, of course, both are punctuated with a feasting holiday. Lent has Mardi Gras before it, that all-out celebration before a month of disciplined sacrifice. Ramadan ends with Eid, a three-day festival of overeating and family time. Both of these religious practices are reminiscent of our new-aged habit hacking experiments. These short exercises in discipline can profoundly affect our daily lives. They offer the opportunity to mold our character and behaviors through a vital purpose and with relatively easy training in habit change.  

My Experiments

Short-term experiments have brought me long-term benefits. I have developed a sense of gratitude, a commitment to writing, and an alcohol-free existence through short challenges. These exercises work because they start off with a determined purpose, are for short periods, and leave me with a sense of accomplishment. In addition, through these small shifts, I have gained a bigger appetite to work towards better self-control and the trust in my capacity to build from minor changes.

The Gratitude Jar

An Empty (?) Jar

I did not realize then, in 2015, that an empty mason jar could change my life. That year, I spent Christmas with my (then) boyfriend’s family in their enormous Charleston home. For Christmas, my ex-boyfriend’s mother gave each family member an empty mason jar with a set of instructions in it. The task: write down things you are grateful for over the year and stick them in the jar, then, on the following Christmas, open up the pot and read your recollections. I followed the instructions in earnest. I found myself taking moments to jot down sunsets, kindnesses, and kisses. When I shared these moments with the family the following Christmas, we re-lived the joys I recorded together. Beyond that, I noticed a change in myself. I found greater awareness in my day-to-day activities. I became attentive to brief moments of grace and luck. It reminded me of Kurt Vonnegut’s story about Uncle Alex; the moral was to stop and realize, “if this isn’t nice, I do not know what is!” Even today, and primarily through the pandemic, I found space in my heart to notice and enjoy what is beautiful, romantic, and meaningful. Having gratitude is a precursor to any happiness. For that, I have this initially empty gratitude jar to thank.

Morning Pages

The work of uncovering my inner artist is still ongoing; it started through daily morning pages, a required part of the 12-week course in Julia Cameron’s The Artists Way. In early 2020, I lived in my less than 200-square-foot apartment in Tokyo. Just as the string of pandemic closures and restrictions shrunk my world, I started this inner journey to expand my horizons. The morning pages, a daily writing practice, gave me room to grow during the maddening and dark times of 2020. I never imagined calling myself an artist. But through the morning pages, I learned to recognize an under-appreciated sense for art. Through regular writing, I realized I had an opportunity to look at my life and see it as a drawing board. I could honestly touch what was working and what could be improved. My social circle shrank without the regular routine of going into work, but my inner life blossomed. The practice of writing regularly, particularly in the morning, has opened me to deeper realms of my inner life. From this course and the morning practice, I sprang into energizing projects (TokyoGround & this blog, among others). I leaned into my introversion and found strength there. I have the small task of morning pages to thank for this significant change.

Alcohol

Wine Down

Just as good habits can grow slowly, my casual drinking sneakily became a norm. Eventually, I realized that drinking had become a fixture of my life in Japan. For the sake of experimentation, I began doing a dry January in 2019 and 2020. Each time, I marveled at how my energy and my skin improved during the dry months. Then, in 2021, dry January turned into dry February. I knew experimentation had developed into resolve when I turned down a glorious aged bourbon among friends. Though the setting was perfect, in the company of my Tokyo family, in a winter log cabin and with the background of heady Tom Waits, I knew that if I could resist a tipple then, I could resist any time. I decided I no longer needed to have a drink to enjoy myself in that cabin. I found the strength and courage to turn down that last round from my practiced resistance. In so doing, those few dry months paved the way to 14 months of abstinence.

The Next Challenge

My self-improvement method involves taking tiny steps from gratitude to writing to abstinence. Habit hacking starts with a small move driven by a significant purpose. Though my first introduction, from the gratitude jar, was an accident, it grew on my past appreciation for Ramadan. In a way, those old religious practices seem a lot like our new-age hacking experiments and challenges. Though I’m not too fond of sweeping and broad commitments, I enjoy the challenge of tiny steps. Beyond Lent & Ramadan, I look to take my hacking into new realms.

I have a pending challenge to try. The 21 day-no complaining challenge is next on the to-do list. My college study abroad teacher called me Llorona, Spanish for whiner. I suspect completing the 21-day no complaining exercise will be good to throw off that ignominious title. A month of Lent or Ramadan can nourish an extraordinary power even without the adjoining religious beliefs. Minimalism, eco-consciousness, and even global progress are accessible to us. With the power of a strong why, we can commit to choosing one small step after another.

On Darkness

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Last month, after I taught a class on flower arrangement, a class participant wrote to tell me she was envious of my life. I still have not found the right words to respond to her. Perhaps my life seen from social media does not show the dark spots along my path. Today, though, I want to acknowledge the darkness.

Despite all my expeditions into the light, sometimes only the darkness rises up. I know I am not the only one. Here in Hawaii, an acquaintance of mine carries his pain right on his chest; he has a tattoo of a lost soul floating in the dark ether of space. When I feel this type of pain, I tend to hideaway. We live in a culture that pushes us to look happy constantly. However, being human requires us to touch the whole range of emotions. For me, the very heart that chases beautiful vistas is also home to a heavy spot of sadness.

              I have known the darkness my whole life. Growing up, I was accused of being moody, too sensitive, or full of attitude. I, now, have learned to recognize a few triggers of that darkness. For example, an insensitive comment, a perceived injustice, or sometimes dreary weather can cloud my disposition. After my father’s death, that darkness exploded into a full-blown depression. Through therapy, I learned some tools to help me manage those darker moments.

              My pen has been a lifelong medium in confronting the dark spots. I have written in journals from about age seven. Those recollected pains are a history of my temperature changes. They are also reminders. I have seen the darkness before. I have looked right into the abyss, and I know there is more for me than that abyss.

              A recent bout of darkness followed the harsh words of a retreating romance. Again, I tried to write through it. This time I could not manage to ink away from the blues. But through a chance conversation with a wise soul, I have started to consider the salve of gratitude.

              Then, in the dark, I began to find space to give thanks. I gave thanks for my past experiences with the darkness. In knowing this pain, I touch my humanity. I gave thanks to the capacity to be present with the discomfort. Though patience is challenging to muster when we are in pain, I felt gratitude for the faith that the darkness will lift at some point. I pulled all my strength together to put one moment after the next. By some stroke of luck, or sometimes, just patience, that dark will give way to light.

              My own tools are not always a panacea. Sometimes, the dark still hangs about. The darkness has a message for us. Perhaps we have lessons to learn from it. At the very least, it is a reminder that we must embrace all of ourselves. The colors and the shadows add depth to our world. When it is too much, I hope a friend, a conversation, or a shift happens. There is a way out of pain. The course requires walking through the darkness. If it is too difficult, there are resources to find help. For anyone reading who struggles with the dark, I am sending faith. Faith that you can make it past the darkness. I send confidence that the sun will rise again. I trust that her warm rays will kiss your face.