Enduring to Bloom

Meaning and opportunity will come from the nonsense

If a friend told me they were struggling right now, I’d gently remind them of the times we’re living in. The weight of multiple perspectives—global turmoil, personal shifts, the dissolution of what once felt normal—is exhausting. Staying neutral through it all requires the utmost care and grace.

I’m sitting with my own ebbs and flows, reflecting on my power—not power in the traditional sense, but in my ability to make choices aligned with authenticity. The intention to experience the world with depth, curiosity, and love. Everything can be a teacher. Pain, exhaustion, heartbreak—each moment holds an invitation to develop wisdom and, eventually, support others through their own struggles.

When the external world feels like a tornado of noise, I remind myself: this is a marathon, not a sprint. Endurance through hardship isn’t fun. It isn’t fair. But it’s part of life. Cultivating patience, gentleness, and resilience isn’t optional—it’s necessary.

In a few weeks, I’ll be back in New York for the first time since moving west. I’m ready for it. Ready to recall what it took to get here. The confusion, mistakes, grief—but also the strengthening. My past became fertile ground for consciousness, self-awareness, and a hunger for maturity.

Astrologically, the sun is in Pisces—a sign of endings, spirituality, and interconnectedness. Riding the bus to a meeting this morning, I started crying at the sheer unraveling of it all. How much is falling apart. How little there is to hold onto.

But this energy calls for a willingness to go inward. To remember that connection, love, and meaning are always present, even in uncertainty. If life is a marathon, then I’m doing just fine. I transformed my entire world after a nine-year cycle—I’ve already proven to myself that change doesn’t break me.

There is time. Time to integrate, to build, to adapt as realities shift faster than stability can form. And in the end, there are always reasons to keep going. Rest, grief, and retreat aren’t just necessary; they’re critical for sustaining long-term presence in an era like this.

Lately, I am often sad. Often confused. Often filled with an intensity that feels too big for one body to hold. But I’m also hopeful. I’m trying. And I’m doing my best to love and be loved through it all.