Wisdom is how you live.
Time is not abundant — it is fragile, fleeting, and holy. This reflection explores what it means to serve not out of convenience but out of urgency, recognizing that life itself is the gift and how we spend it is the offering back.
Sometimes grace feels easier with strangers than with those we love. Strangers carry no history, but beloveds carry memory, longing, and wounds. Across traditions, this paradox is seen not as failure but as the cost—and the wholeness—of love.
Hustlers have become role models, teaching exhaustion as ambition. Unless we choose presence over hustle, we risk passing down scarcity instead of care.
Not skills. Not senses. Just six choices we make every day—three that make us more human, and three that slowly pull us away from ourselves.
Regret is memory fused with morality.
Resentment is grief with its hands still clenched.
Remorse? That’s how we begin again.
This is not a story of shame—but a quiet return to integrity.
I didn’t write about Robin Williams because he was famous. I wrote about him because he was familiar. This is the story behind that reflection—a quiet remembering of presence, pain, and the spark we all carry.
“The soul must abandon all her own understanding and dwell in the dark.”
— Meister Eckhart
Jesus’ parable of the Good Samaritan isn’t just about being kind—it’s about showing up with grace. Not from above, but from beside. This piece reflects on how presence, not power, is what makes someone a true neighbor.
I used to measure my life by what it offered—how useful I could be. But becoming a spark isn’t about usefulness. It’s a rhythm, one that moves through grace and lands in presence.
Not everything we inherit is worth keeping. This is the thread I choose to pass down—grace, faith, and love—woven into a pattern strong enough to hold what was dropped.
