There comes a point where the healing is quiet. No fireworks. No breakthroughs.
Just you, a mug of cooling tea, and the soft ache of becoming someone new. Not better. Not wiser. Just real.
The Cost of Becoming
In the pursuit of goodness, we sometimes lose ourselves.
In the cost of being real, we sometimes burn down everything we once relied on.
What happens next is quieter—less dazzling, but no less sacred.
This is about that afterward.
About returning.
Not in defeat, but in peace.
Learning to Trust the Quiet
There’s a quiet I didn’t know I could trust.
And it taught me this:
I used to think I had to make something of this.
Of the pain.
Of the time I didn’t expect to have.
Of the space my words once filled,
like incense—desperate to smell sacred.
But lately, I’ve started wondering:
What if I didn’t owe anyone a metaphor?
What if living was enough?
The Mundane and the Holy
What if I washed dishes and didn’t narrate the symbolism of cleansing?
What if I walked slowly—not because I was practicing mindfulness,
but because I wanted to see the neighbor’s dog?
What if I stopped trying to sound wise,
and let my mouth rest in silence more often than not?
There is a trap in awakening.
You think that now you see, you must say.
You must share.
You must illuminate.
But maybe light doesn’t need witnesses.
Maybe it’s enough that I woke up—and didn’t turn away.
Unprofound Things
Today I did nothing profound.
I made tea.
I answered a message.
I watched the sun move across the wall.
It was quiet.
It was unbranded.
It was… life.
And for the first time,
I didn’t try to write it into meaning.
I just let it be.
Survival, Then Surface
All of this writing—
it was catharsis.
A way to survive the pressure of becoming.
Of wondering who I’d be at 41.
Turns out, the answer is simple:
Same guy.
Still living in the deep.
Just finally found a way to the surface.
The Fire Served Its Purpose
The sparks that blazed served their purpose.
They broke things open.
They burned off the masks.
They gave the ego something to shape
while everything else fell apart.
And I’m grateful for every word that held me.
But I’m not trying to survive anymore.
I’m trying to live.
Returning, Intentionally
And part of living—
is returning.
Not because the 19% is the calling.
But because I have people who depend on me.
Because pragmatism has a seat at the table now.
Because even the awakened can’t always escape the grip of the MAN.
So I’ll go back.
Back to operational finance.
Back into systems.
Back into the work.
Not to play the game—
but to serve from within it.
To make real life better
for real people.
Just Sam
And still…
I’ll keep writing.
Not as a brand.
Not as a sermon.
But as Sam.
Just Sam.
Still paying attention.
Still catching the sparks that don’t burn.
The ones that glow.
That warm.
That stay.
Like I will.