A Beautiful Life

May we find ourselves

one quiet morning -

not in a rush,

not in a race,

but in a soft slowness,

where the light spills through the blinds

and something inside us whispers:

You’re still here.

And that means something.

May we learn that purpose

does not always arrive

as fireworks or fanfare -

sometimes, it’s just the way

we keep showing up

to a life that hasn’t always been kind.

Sometimes, it’s making coffee

when our hands still shake.

Sometimes, it’s getting out of bed

when the world feels too heavy.

Sometimes, it’s whispering

“I don’t know who I am,”

but still choosing to live,

one trembling step at a time.

May we choose careers

that light something within us -

not just ones that pay bills,

but the kind that make us feel

a little more alive.

And if the jobs we chose

steal the light from our eyes,

may we be brave enough

to begin again.

May we never let a résumé

define the weight of our worth.

Because we are not

titles, promotions,

or empty applause.

We are hands that hold,

hearts that break and rebuild,

souls that carry stories

this world has never heard before.

And that alone -

makes us enough.

May we walk paths

that are ours alone.

Not the ones they told us

we should take.

Not the ones that look best

on paper or in pictures.

But the ones where we lose ourselves

and find ourselves,

sometimes all in the same breath.

And when the road splits -

as it always does -

may we not be afraid

to take the one less lit,

less traveled,

less understood by those around us.

Because peace is rarely loud,

and joy often hides

in the places they told us to avoid.

And if we must walk alone for a while,

let us do so with our heads held high -

not in pride,

but in quiet knowing:

We are building something honest.

Something real.

Even if it’s not easy to explain.

May we be intentional

with the people we let in.

Let them be kind.

Let them be real.

Let them speak truth,

even when it hurts,

but always with love.

Let them be the kind of people

who hold space

when we are soft,

when we are breaking,

when we have nothing left

but the raw edge of our soul.

And if they leave -

because some will -

may we grieve,

but not crumble.

May we cry,

but not close off.

May we learn that endings

are not failures,

just redirections

with different names.

And when the world feels too much

and it will -

may we return to ourselves.

To the sound of our breath.

To the beat of our heart.

To the truth that we are still here,

even after all the storms

we didn’t think we’d survive.

May we remember:

We’ve outlived the nights

we thought would end us.

We’ve mended the cracks

with trembling hands.

We’ve stitched our souls

back together

without even knowing how.

That is not weakness.

That is a quiet kind of power.

May we stop apologizing

for our softness.

For feeling too much.

For loving too deeply.

For needing time.

For not having it all together.

Let us be done

shrinking ourselves

to fit into boxes

that were never made for us.

Let us be too much,

too honest,

too raw -

and be loved not in spite of it,

but because of it.

And if we ever look around

and feel like strangers

in our own lives -

may we not stay trapped

out of fear.

May we tear down

what no longer fits.

May we say, “this isn’t it,”

even if we don’t yet know

what is.

May we be bold enough

to burn the map,

and trust that our feet

will learn the way.

Because there is no timeline

for becoming who we are.

No deadline for healing.

No perfect path.

Only the one that is true.

And truth,

my love,

will always lead you home.

So may we live.

Not perfectly.

Not always happily.

But fully.

May we laugh loudly.

Cry openly.

Love without keeping score.

Fail spectacularly.

Begin again endlessly.

May we forgive ourselves -

a thousand times or more.

And may we find beauty

not in the polished parts,

but in the chaos,

the courage,

and the becoming.

And one day -

in some quiet moment,

years from now -

may we look back

on the lives we chose,

the people we loved,

the paths we walked,

and whisper:

It was never easy.

But oh, it was real.

And it was worth it.

This is the prayer.

This is the promise.

This is the poem of our becoming.

This is a life, worth living:)