Nothing to blame
Most of what you're carrying today doesn't have a face. The timing, the weather, the way the week landed. You can't argue with the weather.
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Most of what you're carrying today doesn't have a face. The timing, the weather, the way the week landed. You can't argue with the weather.
There's a whole vocabulary for loss that never mentions losing anything. Words with the edges rounded off leave a door propped open. The plain one closes it.
Some things fall out of step with your life and aren't meant to come with you. Letting go hurts, but a clean hurt now beats dragging it for years.
The morning has a limit. The story you keep telling about it doesn't.
Some days don't hand you anything. No moment, no needle-mover. A life full of those days would be empty. But not every day has to earn its keep.
You took the work because it was there. It paid. Now it's a grievance. The inconvenient parts came with the convenient ones. That's the tax on saying yes.
The parable says to starve one wolf. But both keep howling. Maybe peace isn't about winning. It's about sitting with what's there.
Some stories are finished before you arrive. Save your ink for the pages that are still blank.

by Paulo Coelho