Reflections

Life hands us a small stack of pages.
We turn one each day. They don’t come back.

So use them wisely.
Not on someone else’s script.
Not on the life you think you should want.

Follow what feels steady in your chest.
The quiet pull.
The small sparks that keep returning no matter how often you ignore them.

Your pages are limited.
Choose the ones that belong to you.

When summer rolls in the leaves change.
Not in shape but in spirit.
They catch the light in a new way.
Greens soften. Shadows warm.
The whole canopy feels alive again.

Let the season remind you how easily beauty returns.

Plans shift. A meeting runs long. A message changes the day. A moment outside your control bends the whole path.

The first reaction is tightness. That small flare of frustration when life doesn’t follow the map you drew this morning.

But rivers don’t fight the banks. They take the turn. They keep moving. They find another way through.

You can too.

A notebook full of ideas looks impressive. Pages of plans. Circles and arrows.
But nothing in your life shifts until something in your day does.

Knowing what to do feels satisfying. It tricks you into thinking you’ve already begun.
But knowledge is only the doorway. The work lives on the other side.

Every leap starts with a step you actually take.
Energy follows action.

I used to think ravens were against me.
They always showed up when something felt off. I took it as a curse.

But today they guided me away from traffic, calling out turns I shouldn’t take.
Their presence wasn’t punishment. It was protection.

Maybe they were never the bad omen.
Maybe I just didn’t want to hear their bad news.

Old things hold their own weight.
Unused, they gather dust and lose their spark. Like water left standing, they turn stale.

Energy moves where attention goes.
Keep too tight a grip on what’s done, and the new can’t find its way in.

Clearing space isn’t loss. It’s invitation.

It felt like I took the sunshine with me today.
Each place I arrived, the clouds broke apart.
Grey skies turned clear. Heavy air lifted.

Maybe the sky does change with us.
Maybe light follows where it’s felt most.

Joy can travel.
It leaves every place a little brighter than before.

From a distance, every mountain looks impossible.
Too steep, too far, too much.

Most of the time, that size only exists in our head.
Fear stretches the slope and thickens the air.

But the first step always shrinks it.
Each move makes the climb more real, and less terrifying.

What feels impossible is often just unfamiliar.

We celebrate pushing through. More hours, more output, more grind.

But the body and mind keep score.

A day off isn’t weakness. It’s repair. It’s what lets you keep showing up without burning out.

The guilt says you’re falling behind. The truth is you’re building strength.

Rest isn’t the opposite of work. It’s part of it.

We’re taught to pay someone else. Things are too hard, too technical, better left to the experts.

But I replaced a headlight. Then a brake accumulator. Both jobs I once thought belonged to a mechanic.

I’m not a mechanic. I just decided to try.

Almost anything we need to know is already written down. It’s searchable, accessible, and sitting in our pockets.

What seems impossible is usually just unfamiliar. On the other side is the quiet thrill of "I did it."