I had hoped by this time, the fog would've cleared, but at the time of writing, it lingers. Winter's grey curtains haven't parted way for spring's tender blooms and renaissance, but here, in the midst of the chill and gloom, there have been, and still will be, opportunities to recognize, even create, beauty.
Joy was discovered in picking up a paintbrush and swirling it in childhood watercolors. Kindness was sown with hand-drawn hearts and apple cakes. Connections were cultivated over coffee walks, goat hikes, and risky acts of vulnerability.
Over the past few months, I've spent more and more time with my community group and my parents' friends. Collectively, they're a charismatic, international group of adults who carry panoptic perspectives and rich stories of humble beginnings, immigration, and global travels. Gathered around a table, stories from Paraguay, Hungary, Poland, South Africa, Nigeria, Pakistan, India, Malaysia, China, Hong Kong, and Taiwan have been exchanged. The wisdom of their hindsight have reinforced the necessity to laugh, make beauty, and splash color into your own life. I saw in them the value of investing in your hobbies, inventing reasons to celebrate, trying new things, and being honest when you're down. Even the small things, like constantly rearranging furniture or not limiting yourself to a single passion, drew me back to the childlike imagination and flexibility I've lost touch with.
Previously, I only had eyes for the shortest route, the straight line from point to point. But in the wilderness, the uncertainty of things, I learned to embrace the curves and edges of a winding road a little more. Armed with previous seasons of waiting as guiding lights, trustworthy travel buddies, lots of homemade snacks, books for inspiration, and a good playlist, I was able to gain mileage in this foggy road trip. There was room to create, freedom to not know, audacity to hope. Nothing is stronger than a small hope that doesn't give up.
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