When I was young, I was always reaching.
For the next achievement, the next milestone, the next proof that I mattered.
A book, a title, a life neatly measured in accomplishments.

But this morning, I walked the beach.
I held a smooth white rock in my palm and thought — it has done nothing to earn its place here.
And yet, it belongs.

I am beginning to understand: so do I.

This is what I want to tell the young — and maybe even the older ones who never heard it when they needed to:
You are enough.
Not because of what you’ve done. Not because of what you will do.
But because you are.

One day, if you’re lucky, you’ll look at your own reflection with kindness.
And maybe even say, quietly and sincerely, “I love you.”

That is the grace of aging.
Not in the lines on your face, but in the softening of your heart.
In knowing you were always worthy — just like the birch, the blue jay, the sea-polished stone.

I have big emotions and generally, I don’t struggle to express them. However, I have noticed, that there are exceptions, mostly in expressing emotions like melancholy, longing and sadness. I experience these emotions more subtlety and it can take me some time to realize that sadness is coming up in me.

When I give myself space to be alone, I find my creativity rising. My need to express, to speak, and especially to write, is always there; it’s just that the busy pace of life often mutes our creative expression