SILENT BATTLES AND THE GRACE TO HEAL

 

There are seasons in life where silence feels safer than words. Where speaking becomes too heavy, and even explaining feels like reopening a wound that’s trying its best to close. I’m in that space now, the space where not talking to people feels like a form of protection. I’ve been sitting with my thoughts lately, and I can admit it: I feel shame. I feel embarrassed. I feel stuck, not doing “anything”.

Part of it came from the condition in my eye, which I had a week ago, a subconjunctival hemorrhage. Walking around with a bloodshot eye caused by a burst vein can make you want to crawl into a hole and stay there. It’s the kind of thing that draws attention, even when you wish it wouldn’t. You catch people staring a second too long, their expressions shifting from concern to discomfort. It’s no wonder I kept my sunglasses on the whole time, even indoors, not because the light hurt my eyes, but because I wanted to protect everyone from how hideous I felt I looked. I didn’t want to see that flicker of horror or pity reflected at me.

The strange thing is, this small condition brought back so many buried memories, ones I thought I had long made peace with.

I remember the accident. My face was barely recognizable. Hideous, that’s the word I recall and imagined, as I saw my reflection in the mirror. I saw the stares, the uncomfortable glances, the way people shifted in their seats when they looked at me. Their reactions cut deeper than the physical pain ever did. The wounds healed, but the scars both seen and unseen lingered because of how people squirmed around me as if my face was something to be avoided, as if scars could somehow be contagious.

That’s when I learned something about people, about behavior, compassion, and the power of silence. I realized that, as much as some love you and give you comfort, they may not always be the ones who take the time to understand your story. Sometimes, it’s strangers on the internet who stumble upon your words and feel them more deeply than those who’ve known you your whole life. Maybe it’s because I can articulate myself better in writing than I can out loud. And maybe an experience lived daily loses its edge for those around you, but for someone reading it fresh, it hits differently. You get a raw reaction that relives the moment and relates to you at a deeper level.

People’s behavior taught me that if you want to hide something, you should put it in a book. Because truly, most won’t read. Even when you write it right in front of them, even when your story is laid bare, they’ll scroll past it, skim it, or avoid it altogether. It’s no wonder that saying exists. But somehow, that realization doesn’t make me indifferent anymore. It’s freeing. It means I can tell my story without fear. I can write without worrying about judgment because most of those who would judge won’t even take the time to read or understand.

Whether people read or not, whether they choose silence or pity, it no longer matters. In fact, I’ve learned that sometimes, silence is better. Pity, though often well-intentioned, can be more painful than the wound itself.

And somewhere in between all that noise and quiet, I learned an important lesson:

Choose peace over poison.

To stop drinking from the cup of other people’s opinions and reactions. To stop replaying their stares, their whispers, their pity in my head. Peace, even when it’s lonely, is still softer than the poison of self-doubt, pity, and shame.

I often think about what Bella said in Twilight, how she’s “the suffer in silence” type. I get it completely. There’s something about quiet suffering that feels… controlled. You choose not to let people in, not because you don’t need help, but because explaining everything while it’s happening feels impossible. You can’t form words for a storm that’s still raging.

And that’s the hard part, for both sides. It’s hard to be there for someone who won’t let you in. You can only ask so many times before you start to feel like you’re prying. I’ve been on both sides of that wall, the one hurting and the one waiting outside it. It’s taught me to be gentler. To understand that sometimes people need space to fall apart, to sit in their own mess, to find their own way back.

I’ve learned to give people grace, to let them go quiet without judgment, to allow them to wallow if they need to, and to trust that maybe one day they’ll come around. Because we’re all fighting something, even if our battles don’t look the same.

Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is sit with your pain until it teaches you something. Sometimes healing looks like isolation, like quiet mornings where you barely recognize yourself but still choose to show up. Sometimes it’s writing words you’re not sure anyone will read, just so you can breathe again.

The good thing is, my eye is healing now. The red has faded, and I’m slowly seeing more of the white return, something so small, yet it fills me with gratitude. It’s funny how we take little things like that for granted until they remind us just how fragile we are. Illness really puts life into perspective; it reminds you of the gift of health and how easy it is to overlook what once felt ordinary. There’s a quiet joy in recovery, that moment when your body begins to feel like your own again, and I constantly remind myself never to take that for granted.

If you’ve ever felt ashamed, unseen, or broken, I see you. You’re not alone in your silence. You’re not strange for pulling away. Sometimes, stepping back is the only way to move forward.

And when you finally find your way back into the light, you’ll realize that even in your quietest moments, you were growing patiently and beautifully.

YOU REALLY DO BECOME WHAT YOU THINK

Recently, I’ve been reflecting on the incredible power of our minds. Every thought we entertain, every belief we hold onto, quietly shapes the way we see ourselves and the world around us. It’s easy to underestimate the impact of our inner dialogue on our peace, confidence, and sense of purpose. Yet the truth remains: you really do become what you think.

If your mind is filled with clutter, negativity, and self-doubt, it becomes almost impossible to live with joy. I’ve experienced seasons where I let my thoughts spiral into worry, comparison, or fear, and soon enough, I felt drained and disconnected. But when I intentionally fill my mind with gratitude, hope, and truth, everything begins to shift. My energy feels lighter, my focus becomes clearer, and I start to see life through a lens of possibility rather than limitation. The state of our minds determines the state of our lives.

Emotions are not problems that need fixing; they are signals that invite us to listen. Fear often points to what truly matters. Anger reveals where our boundaries have been crossed. Anxiety usually means we’ve wandered too far into the future, and it gently calls us to return to the present. I’ve learned to see emotions as teachers rather than enemies. They don’t define us, but they help us understand where we are and what needs healing.

Many people chase motivation, hoping it will change their lives. But motivation is fleeting, it fades the moment things get hard. What truly transforms us are our habits. The small, consistent actions we take each day hold more power than bursts of inspiration. When we build habits rooted in purpose, like spending time in stillness, choosing kindness, or showing up for ourselves even when it’s hard, everything begins to shift. Little by little, our habits shape our character, and our character shapes our destiny.

Our past, too, has a way of trying to hold us captive. But the past is only a chapter, not the entire story. I remind myself to learn from it, to take the lessons it offers, but not to keep living there. Living in the past steals the beauty of the present moment. We can’t rewrite what has already happened, but we can choose how to move forward and what we carry with us.

As a creative, I’ve learned that this truth extends into the work we put out into the world. It takes faith to believe in your talent when no one seems to notice, and courage to share your art even when you doubt if it’s good enough. There are times when the results don’t come right away, and yet that’s where quiet trust is built. Every sketch, photo, painting, design, or idea is a seed. It may not bloom immediately, but with consistency and belief, it eventually finds its place. Faith in your creative purpose means releasing control over the outcome and trusting that the work you create with sincerity will reach who it’s meant to reach, in its own time.

Interestingly, this week’s Gospel reading from Luke 17:1–10 spoke about faith, the kind that starts as small as a mustard seed and moves mountains. Whether you’re a person of faith or not, the message holds true for everyone. It reminds us that transformation doesn’t come from massive leaps but from small, steady steps in the right direction, like the mustard seed, which begins tiny yet grows into a great tree over time. Just as with faith, the smallest change in thought or attitude can grow into something powerful when nurtured daily. Besides, we know that faith without action is dead.

In the same way, when someone triggers us, it’s rarely about them. It’s often a reflection of something within us that still needs attention. I’ve learned to pause in those moments and ask, “What is this trying to show me?” That pause creates space for growth. It reminds me that healing is an ongoing process and that grace must start with ourselves.

We spend so much time trying to control everything, yet control is an illusion. The only real power we have lies in our responses, in our habits, and in our choices. That’s where freedom begins.

At the end of the day, everything circles back to this truth: your thoughts shape you, your habits build you, and your choices define you. When we nurture our minds with positive, grounded thoughts, cultivate habits that align with who we’re becoming, and make intentional choices each day, we begin to step into a life of peace, purpose, and quiet faith.

Even the smallest seed of belief in yourself, in hope, in God, or in the goodness of life, is enough to grow into something extraordinary.

COMPARISON, PEACE, AND THE LONG GAME

 

There’s a quote I often come back to: “Comparison is the thief of joy.” It’s one of those truths that creeps into our lives quietly, stealing contentment before we even realize it’s gone.

We live in a world where it’s impossible not to notice what other people are doing. Every scroll through social media reminds us of someone else’s highlight reel: an award won, a new house purchased, a vacation by the beach, or even just a beautifully edited photo. At first, it looks harmless, even inspiring. But over time, comparison takes root. What was once admiration becomes dissatisfaction. What was once a celebration becomes self-doubt.

Instead of enjoying what we already have, we convince ourselves it isn’t enough. We start chasing what looks shiny, desperately trying to keep up with the Joneses. But here’s the truth: the Joneses don’t even exist. They’re an illusion, a carefully curated story. Chasing them is a race without a finish line.

And this isn’t just about wealth or lifestyle; it runs deep, especially for creatives.

The Artist’s Struggle with Comparison

Being an artist, I know this reality all too well. You put your heart into your work. You spend hours sketching, painting, designing, or creating something you believe has meaning. Then you post it. You wait. A few likes trickle in. Maybe one or two comments if you’re lucky.

And then you scroll.

That’s when you see another artist’s work; sharper, brighter, seemingly more profound. Their posts get hundreds, sometimes thousands of reactions. They’re being recognized, celebrated, and even commissioned. Meanwhile, you start asking yourself: Why not me? Is my work even worth it? Am I really good enough?

The harsh truth is, art is not a meritocracy. The best work doesn’t always get the spotlight. Sometimes it’s luck, timing, or simply the right person sharing it with the right audience. Watching others “make it” while your work goes unnoticed can feel crushing. It’s a weight that makes you question not only your talent but also your purpose.

And yet, here’s the secret: the only way through is persistence

Short-Term Praise vs. Long-Term Peace

Chasing recognition feels good in the moment, it’s that rush of short-term praise. But it fades quickly. The likes stop. The applause dies down. And then what? If your value rests only on that fleeting attention, you’ll constantly feel empty.

The real secret to true wealth is not applause, not fame, not even sales. It’s peace. It’s the quiet knowing that your work matters, even if the world doesn’t recognize it immediately. It’s creating because you love the process, because your art heals you, challenges you, or allows you to speak when words fail. That kind of wealth lasts.

The Persuasiveness of Pessimism

Another thing I’ve noticed is how different optimism and pessimism sound to our ears. Pessimism is always more persuasive. Someone says, “That’ll never work” or “It’s too risky,” and immediately, we believe them. It sounds wise, almost protective.

Optimism, on the other hand, often sounds like a sales pitch. “Keep going, it will pay off one day” feels vague, naïve, and sometimes even delusional. But the truth is, pessimism lives in the short term. It tells you what can’t happen tomorrow. Optimism, however, lives in the long term. It doesn’t promise days. It promises decades.

Think about it: every artist who’s ever been remembered wasn’t validated in a week. Some weren’t even celebrated in their lifetime. But the impact of their work grew over the years, decades, even centuries. Optimism is the quiet belief that if you keep showing up, your work will find its place.

And when I reflect on this, I’m reminded of God’s timing. “For everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven.” (Ecclesiastes 3:1). This speaks directly into my word of the year, Providence. It’s the assurance that God’s timing is never rushed, never delayed, but perfectly aligned with His purpose for us.

Playing the Long Game

So where does this leave us? It leaves us with a choice.

We can choose comparison, short-term praise, and pessimism, and live in cycles of frustration and burnout. Or we can choose peace, the long game, and the kind of optimism that sustains us through dry seasons.

Choosing peace doesn’t mean settling. It means refusing to let external validation dictate your worth. Choosing optimism doesn’t mean ignoring the struggle. It means accepting that the best things, whether success, recognition, or mastery, take time.

And playing the long game means trusting that what you create today may not be appreciated tomorrow, but it still matters. It’s still planting seeds, and eventually, seeds grow. As Paul reminds us, “Let us not grow weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.” (Galatians 6:9). That’s the promise of long-term gain; the harvest comes, but only after patience, consistency, and faith.

Final Thoughts

Comparison will always be there, whispering in the background. Recognition may come slower than we hoped. And pessimism will often feel more convincing than optimism.

But in the end, joy is found in persistence. Wealth is found in peace. And greatness is found in the long game.

So to every artist, creator, or dreamer wondering if their work is worth it… Yes, it is. Even if it doesn’t look like it today. Especially if it doesn’t look like it today, because your art isn’t just for applause; it’s part of the story you’re building.

And stories, like masterpieces, are best told over time.

 

GOD KNOWS AND THAT’S ENOUGH!

 

Lately, I’ve been realizing something about how God works in our lives: He gives us just enough. Not too much that we get comfortable and forget Him, and not so little that we’re completely hopeless and abandoned. Just enough to keep us leaning on Him, remembering that we can’t do it all on our own. And you know what? God knows, and that’s enough. I actually have those exact words written on my manifesto hanging on my wall, and the older I get, the more I see the truth in them.

That phrase became real to me in a very personal way. For a long time, I had this bad habit of overexplaining myself, always trying to defend who I was or prove my truth, especially when people thought I was lying or chose not to believe me. It used to drain me, because no matter how much I explained, some people had already made up their minds. Then I started telling myself, “God knows, and that’s enough.” Whether people chose to believe me or not, it didn’t matter anymore. I know my truth, and more importantly, God knows my truth. And with that, I’ve found peace.

When I look back, I notice how life always seems to present a new challenge right after a victory. You think you’ve overcome one mountain, only to find another waiting ahead. At first, it feels unfair, like, why can’t I just breathe for a while? But then it hits me: if I had everything handed to me with no struggle, no waiting, no uncertainty, I’d probably stop praying. I’d stop asking. I’d stop depending. And I know I’m not alone in that.

The Bible tells us that God is a “jealous God” (Exodus 34:14). He wants our attention, our love, our dependency. Not because He’s insecure, but because He knows that when we turn away from Him, we turn toward destruction. So sometimes that “just enough” is His way of keeping our hearts close, teaching us to trust Him with tomorrow instead of drowning in the false security of today.

It reminds me of the Israelites in the wilderness. God provided manna for them daily, but notice how it was only enough for that day. If they tried to store it up, it spoiled (Exodus 16:19–20). Why? Because God wanted them to depend on Him every single day. And honestly, isn’t that still the story of our lives? We worry so much about where our next meal will come from, how the bills will be paid, or who will provide for us. Yet Jesus reminds us in Matthew 6:26 that if God takes care of the birds of the air and feeds them, how much more will He take care of us? If He can provide for the birds and the bees, then who am I to doubt His provision? He reminds us daily that His mercies are new every morning (Lamentations 3:22–23).

And here’s something else I’ve come to realize: deep down, when you stop and think about some of the things you once prayed for, you’ll see that you’re already living in an answered prayer. God gave you what you wanted, but because we are constantly asking for the next thing, we often forget that we’re blessed according to His timing and His understanding of what we needed in that season. That’s why we must strongly believe that everything happens for a reason, and always in God’s perfect timing (Ecclesiastes 3:1). At the end of the day, we can rest in this truth: God knows, and that’s enough.

Now, let me go back to a conversation I had with my brother that really made me think. He said, and I quote, “Blessings come with a curse.” At first, that sounded heavy, almost negative. But as he explained further, it began to make sense. A blessing, by nature, is good, but it also comes with responsibilities, sacrifices, and challenges that can feel like a curse if we’re not prepared for them. You pray for a better job, and along with it comes longer hours and more stress. You pray for influence, and along with it comes criticism and pressure. You pray for love, and with it comes sacrifice and responsibility.

It’s not that the blessing itself is bad, it’s that every blessing stretches us. And stretching can sometimes feel like breaking. That’s why Luke 12:48 is so true: “To whom much is given, much will be required.” What my brother meant is that we have to recognize this balance and learn to choose contentment. We can’t just expect the good without the weight it carries. So the key is being happy with what we have, trusting God’s wisdom, and knowing that even when blessings feel heavy, they are still gifts from Him.

That’s why it’s so important not to lose yourself in the middle of the sacrifices you make. Society loves to glorify sacrifice, calling it noble, and yes, there’s honor in serving others. But if in the process you neglect yourself, your health, your soul, what good is that? Even Jesus, who gave everything, still took time to rest, to pray, to withdraw from the crowds (Luke 5:16). He showed us that self-care isn’t selfish; it’s necessary to keep going.

So here’s where I’ve landed: God gives us just enough because He knows us better than we know ourselves. Just enough to remind us to pray. Just enough to keep us grateful. Just enough to stretch us without breaking us. Just enough to make us realize that He is the source, not us.

And when the blessings feel heavy, or when the sacrifices feel like too much, maybe that’s the moment to pause and take care of yourself. To sit with God, to rest in His presence, and to remember that He is still good, even when the “just enough” doesn’t look like what we wanted.

Because the truth is, God’s “enough” has always been enough. As Philippians 4:19 says, “And my God will meet all your needs according to the riches of his glory in Christ Jesus.” Not all your wants. Not all your plans. But your needs, your real needs, and that’s more than enough.

 

LOVE, PASSION, AND THE SILENCE BETWEEN

Love is supposed to be gentle and kind, but is it really? It does not come with instructions or a filter that makes it easier to swallow. Love exposes us, lays us bare, and often shames us mercilessly. We can pretend to control it, to manage it, to dress it up with sweet words and forced smiles, but the truth is harder to hide. Love lives in our thoughts. It presses against the walls of our hearts, demanding to be felt, even when we fight against it. And the more we resist, the louder it seems to echo inside us.

We often convince ourselves that moving on is simple. We tell ourselves time heals, that new beginnings erase old endings, and that we are strong enough to outgrow what once consumed us. But is this true, or is it only what we tell ourselves so we can keep functioning? Moving on sometimes feels less like healing and more like survival. We pile our emotions one on top of the other, hoping fresh experiences will bury the past. A new friendship, a new love, a new routine. Yet the silence always catches us. In the quiet, memories resurface. They linger like shadows, shimmering at the edges of thought, reminding us of what we have tried so hard to forget.

Maybe the truth is that we never fully move on. Maybe love is not meant to leave us. It leaves scars, deep and invisible, but always present. Scars that whisper of who we were when we gave ourselves away, when we dared to feel. We may call it hate, or we may call it indifference, but often these are only masks we wear to cover the ache. Hate is not the opposite of love. Sometimes it is just love’s residue, hardened and twisted, but still tethered to what once was.

This truth does not only belong to the realm of romance. It finds its way into the passions we pursue in life, art, work, dreams, and the things that once set our souls on fire. We begin with conviction, convinced we have found our calling, and we dive in wholeheartedly. But over time, the flame changes. What once felt like joy begins to feel heavy. The love we had for a craft, a dream, or even a career can shift into fatigue or even bitterness. And we wonder, was it ever love at all? Or was it a desire dressed as passion, destined to fade once lived in reality?

Perhaps love and passion share this one cruel truth: they are rarely permanent. They evolve, they transform, and sometimes they fade. When passion withers, we often resent it. It feels like a betrayal, as though we were abandoned by something we once trusted. Just like with lost love, we may disguise that grief as hate. It is easier to call it bitterness than to admit we still care. It is easier to shut the door than to admit part of us still longs for the fire.

But maybe that lingering ache is not a curse. Maybe it is a reminder that we once lived with depth, that we once cared enough to give ourselves fully. Whether it is for a person, an art form, a career, or a dream, the scar that love and passion leave is proof of life. Proof that we were not numb, that we were willing to risk heartbreak in the hope of joy.

So how do we live with this? Perhaps the point is not to escape the wound or silence the echo. Perhaps the point is to accept that love and passion will always carry weight. They are not meant to be tidy or easy. They are meant to move us, to shape us, to scar us. And in those scars lie the stories of our memories.

Love and passion are blessings and burdens, flames of fire turned to ashes. They do not always stay, but they always leave their mark. And in the silence between what was and what is, we learn to carry both the beauty and the ache. We learn that the scar itself is a kind of love, not for what we lost, but for the proof that we once dared to feel.

 

EVERYTHING HAS AN EXPIRATION DATE

 

We live in a world that often glorifies permanence. We’re told to invest in things that last “forever,” to build relationships that will stand the test of time, and to create work that will outlive us. And so, many of us, myself included, grow up with the belief that once something is ours, it will always remain. But life has a way of reminding us otherwise.

It’s in the moments when something breaks, when systems fail, or when change knocks unexpectedly at our door that we’re forced to face a humbling truth: nothing is truly permanent.

I once had a conversation with my dentist that changed the way I look at life. My crown had broken, and I was upset about it. I remember asking him why it broke and what use it was to me if it couldn’t last a lifetime. His answer was simple, yet so profound that it has stayed with me ever since: “Everything has a lifespan. Nothing on this earth is permanent. Even we as humans eventually die.”

Those words struck me. In that moment, I realized how often I hold on to the illusion of permanence, expecting things to last forever. But the truth is, everything has an expiration date, whether it’s objects, systems, relationships, or even habits.

The Illusion of Permanence

We live in a world where marketing sells us the dream of “forever.” A phone that will serve us endlessly. A website that will run smoothly once it’s built. A crown that should stay in place for life. Yet reality is different. Everything requires maintenance, repair, or eventual replacement.

Take my website, for example. When it recently experienced downtime, I was frustrated. My first thought was: “Why isn’t this permanent? Didn’t I already put in the work?” I had subconsciously assumed that once I created it, it would remain stable without further effort. But websites, just like people, need check-ups, updates, and care.

My frustration revealed something deeper: I struggle with the idea that things I build or invest in won’t last forever. I want them to, but they don’t, and that dissonance unsettles me.

The Price of Value

This also occurs when I purchase expensive electronics. The moment something breaks, I feel cheated: “Why spend so much money on something that won’t last?”

But that’s the reality, we aren’t paying for eternity. We’re paying for value within a time span. Even the most durable products eventually wear out. And perhaps that’s the point: value isn’t measured by how long something lasts, but by how much use and meaning it provides while it lasts.

Patterns of Attachment

I’ve realized this mindset of permanence affects not only my possessions but also my habits, my work, and even my relationships. Somewhere deep down, I’ve always believed that once something is mine, it will always be mine.

That’s why letting go has always been difficult for me. Whether it’s a broken phone, a failed project, or even a piece of art I don’t like, my instinct is to hold on, to finish, to see it through. If I start a painting and dislike it halfway, I can’t just abandon it. I’ll push through until the end, even if I remain unsatisfied with the result.

At first glance, that may look like discipline and consistency. And in some ways, it is. This is why I always see things through to the end. It’s why people often describe me as reliable, consistent and loyal. Those are strengths.

But there’s also a downside. The same consistency that keeps me finishing projects also keeps me stuck in patterns, a loop, even when those patterns don’t serve me. I remain consistent in failure as much as in success. I cling tightly to things long after their expiration date, sometimes out of loyalty, sometimes out of habit, sometimes out of fear.

The Double-Edged Sword of Consistency

Consistency is both my superpower and my struggle.

On the one hand, it has taught me perseverance. It has allowed me to complete works of art, to finish difficult projects, to maintain routines when motivation falters. It is the quiet force that ensures progress.

On the other hand, it can chain me to things I should release. A project that no longer excites me. A routine that no longer nurtures me. A relationship that no longer serves me. By insisting on finishing everything, I sometimes forget that not everything deserves to be finished. Some things are meant to be paused, reimagined, or simply let go.

Learning to Embrace Expiration

This lesson about impermanence is still unfolding in my life. I am learning that expiration dates are not failures. They are reminders that life is dynamic. Just as seasons change, so too do the things we create, use, and experience.

Permanence was never the promise. Presence is.

The crown that broke served me for years. The website downtime taught me to be attentive and adaptive. The phone that eventually failed gave me countless moments of connection and creativity. Even the artwork I dislike teaches me something new about my craft, an opinion formed at a glance, but still shaped by the act of creation.

And maybe the deeper truth is this: expiration dates force us to keep moving. They prevent us from clinging forever to the old, and they make space for the new.

A Gentle Shift

So instead of resenting impermanence, I’m trying to embrace it. To see the lifespan of things as part of their beauty. To remind myself that endings are not betrayals but natural transitions.

Everything has an expiration date, but that doesn’t diminish its worth. It only means we must be present while it lasts, grateful for the value it gives, and willing to let go when its time is done.

Because in the end, maybe the point isn’t for things to last forever. Maybe the point is to let them shape us while they last.

MY MIND IS A CONSTANT LOOP

 

There’s a coldness that surrounds me constantly. I can’t quite explain it. Only that it lingers, quietly wrapping itself around my thoughts, consuming any warmth I try to hold onto. It drains me of energy, strips me of drive, and slowly pulls at the threads of my ambition. It’s like a fog, subtle, but persistent. Dimming the light inside me and shuttering the dreams I once held so vividly. Every spark of hope seems to flicker out before it can become a flame, and I'm left wondering what happened to all the things I was once so sure of.

There’s this looming sense of disappointment that trails me. Not necessarily about where I am, but about where I think I should be. It’s like a shadow that whispers, "You could have done more. You could have been more." And maybe it's right. Or maybe it's just the echo of comparison and unmet expectations. Either way, it feeds on my courage, chipping away at the resilience I try so hard to preserve. It keeps reminding me to be discontented as though I haven’t been blessed, as though I don’t already have so much to be grateful for.

But I do. I know I do.

Still, that doesn't quiet the noise.

There’s also a shadow from my past that clings to me. It shows up uninvited, replaying past accomplishments that I once brushed off, things I didn’t celebrate, because I didn’t think they were enough. And yet, now, those same moments seem precious. They remind me that I’ve done good things, even if I didn’t give myself the grace to acknowledge them back then. Somehow, I’ve tethered myself to these echoes, unable to surrender the past, yet unsure how to carry it forward with peace.

Then comes the fear of the future. It creeps in quietly, disguising itself as preparation or caution. I imagine the worst-case scenarios, running through them as if I’m rehearsing for disaster. Still, somehow, I remain hopeful, hopeful that better days are ahead. It’s a strange kind of duality, living between anxiety and expectation. The present feels like a blur, like I’m neither here nor there. As though my efforts today don’t quite measure up, or aren’t even being seen. There’s a disconnection from the now, like I’m always either looking back with regret or forward with fear.

I find myself questioning what I’m meant to celebrate. The things I once held proudly seem to have slipped from my hands. And yet, I still reflect, search for meaning, trying to believe that the future is not yet written. That the choices I make now still have weight. Still have the power to shape something good.

And yet, none of it seems to make sense. It’s a cycle, a loop that wraps itself around my thoughts, tightening and loosening without warning. A tug-of-war with reality, where my mind crafts scenarios both real and imagined. They dance endlessly in my head, teasing my peace, shaking my calm. Sometimes I wonder if I’m the one destabilizing myself, or if life just comes with this kind of inner noise. I tell myself I have control and, in some ways, I do. But in others, I feel like a passenger just trying to hold on.

Still, deep down, I know something important: I get to decide. I get to decide what I focus on. What I feed. What I let grow. And what I let go of.

Life is a wonder. Sometimes frustratingly so. I find myself rereading the things I write, observing the patterns that consume my mind. And I realize that, after all is said and done, I’m still me. The core of who I am hasn't changed. Only time has passed. The visions, the worries, and the uncertainties remain the same. Maybe they always will. Maybe that's just part of being human.

It's just another day in the loop. Another attempt to make sense of it all. Another journal entry, another deep breath, another quiet reminder that I’m still here, still standing, still feeling, still hoping. And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough for now.

Hopefully, one day, it will all make sense.

 

THE SHIFT OF THE DIGITAL AGE

When the Machine Creates, Is There Still Room for the Human Touch?

I feel as though I keep having to relearn a new skill just to stay ahead, to keep up with the times, because if I don’t, I’ll be left behind. It wasn’t too long ago that knowing Photoshop was a big deal. I remember growing up and just learning how to use a computer, having to get used to typing because writing by hand was all I knew. I didn’t even have a cellphone at one point, before high school, because it didn’t exist at an affordable price, and back then, the internet wasn’t even a thing, at least not accessible from the comfort of my home.

But life comes at you fast.

The internet arrived, and cyber cafés became the place to be. I remember paying to access the internet, a luxury not many could afford to have at home. Then came owning a cellphone, and eventually laptops. Technology started placing access to information right at the palm of our hands. Libraries started to dwindle. Dictionaries were no longer a necessity.

Now, when I try to hold a pencil and paper, I realize I’ve become so accustomed to typing that I’ve almost forgotten my own beautiful handwriting.

As a graphic designer, my work feels constantly under threat. Ironically, I taught myself much of what I know through the same internet that now makes things too easy. YouTube, tutorials, free resources, they were my teachers. I learned Illustrator the same way. But now, with websites like Canva simplifying the process for everyone, our years of training and creative muscle often feel like a joke.

Still, I jump on the trends. Because the truth is, if life can be made easier, why not embrace it, right?

As a photographer, I used to take pride in the weight of my DSLR camera, its lenses, its gear, the time it took to compose and edit a shot. But today, everyone carries a high-definition camera in their pockets. What even is the value of a DSLR anymore? What even is the purpose of our jobs when almost anyone can take a decent photo on their phone?

Then came AI, and the threats accelerated. Now, a design or an image can be created instantly with just a prompt. Work that once took hours of thinking, planning, and crafting can be generated in seconds.

Where does that leave us?

My traditional paintings, especially my acrylic work, are now mimicked by digital brushes and layering techniques. What once required mastery of color mixing and brush control is now replicated with a tap and a drag. Traditional artists resisted this shift, often dismissing digital artists as “fake.” But they hadn’t seen the coming of AI, something that would challenge their value even more.

In my case, I’ve never been confident drawing human portraits. Digital tools allowed me to work around this by cartoonizing or drawing over images, something traditional media never gave me room to do. I took advantage of it, but then I started worrying about copyright. I wasn’t sure where the lines were drawn, no pun intended. AI then became a kind of blessing, offering references I could use legally, though even that is still a grey area.

So here we are today, facing AI’s rapid rise, watching our work being consumed literally at the touch of a button. Just press “Enter” after typing a command.

But if you think about it, can we even call it art?

We now compete with machines, hoping to be chosen in a world that’s slowly losing its appreciation for the human form and the human touch. Even my writing has been affected. As a creative writer, I’ve become more productive because AI has helped me put my thoughts into words I never thought possible. I can fine-tune my work quickly. I no longer need an editor because grammar checks and flow suggestions are done instantly. But in that efficiency, someone else’s job, someone’s years of experience, becomes less necessary.

All these shifts in such a short time during my lifetime make me wonder what past generations were doing. How has so much changed so quickly? And more importantly, what is to come?

What happens to our creative exploration?
Are we doomed to rely entirely on machines?
Or is our work still relevant?

Maybe the question isn’t about fighting the tools but learning how to use them wisely. Maybe the key is in finding balance, not replacing the human touch, but amplifying it.

 

LIVING IN HOPES

If we all knew our destiny and it was hopeless, we’d probably just give up. What’s the point of trying when you already know it ends badly? But the truth is… we don’t know. And in that, not knowing is where we find hope. It’s the quiet, persistent voice that says, “Maybe it’ll work out. Maybe tomorrow will be different. Maybe this step will lead somewhere better.”

That hope is what keeps many of us going, especially when things don’t seem to add up. I’ve had people talk to me with awe in their voices… amazed at the things I’ve done or the projects I’ve worked on, in the things I have accomplished in my life thus far. And yet, behind the scenes, the numbers don’t always reflect the admiration. The value people see in me doesn’t always show up in reward.

And that used to bother me. Still does sometimes. But I’ve come to understand that I’m not failing, I’m learning. In the process of it all, I’ve become an experienced learner. Life has taught me so many lessons that I wouldn’t trade for anything. Some came the hard way. Some I still don’t fully understand. Each one has added something with a little wisdom here, a little strength there; each one has shaped me into the person I am today.

Sometimes I wonder… is it too late?
To change paths?
To start over?
To try something bold?

I keep hearing it’s never too late, so I know this. The real question is: do you still have the courage to try?

Lately, I have been feeling like it's time to start a new skill or make some changes.

You never really know if a choice is right or wrong until you make it. That’s the risk we all have to take. The only thing that matters is that the choices you make are yours, not forced. Not manipulated, yours. And with that ownership comes power. Though I keep questioning, how do you make them with certainty, if all you do is doubt and question your choices?

George Bernard Shaw once said, “Imagination is the beginning of creation. You imagine what you desire, you will what you imagine, and at last you create what you will.” That quote always reminds me that everything starts in the mind. A dream. An idea. A picture in your head that feels so real you can almost touch it.

So if you’re living in hopes… that’s okay.
Hope is not weakness. It’s not delusion.
It’s breath for the soul.
It’s how you take another step even when your legs are tired.
It’s how you choose to believe in a version of your life that hasn’t shown up yet.

And maybe it will…
Maybe not in the way you imagined, but in a way that still makes sense.
A way that’s still beautiful.

Until then, keep imagining. Keep choosing. Keep living.
Not because you’re guaranteed success, but because it’s your life to live.

 

NOT EVERYONE WILL BE GREAT… AND THAT’S OKAY

 

I was watching a K-drama called Love Next Door, and there’s something they said that’s been sitting with me lately:
“Not everyone can be special. Most people live ordinary lives, so stop being obsessed with becoming someone great. Just find what’s valuable in your life and that’s enough.”

Honestly… it hit home.

We live in a time where we’re constantly told we have to be the best: to build a name, make noise, be seen, be remembered. But what if greatness isn’t loud? What if it isn’t flashy or revolutionary? It’s no wonder that all my life, I’ve grown up thinking I’m destined for greatness… waiting for this big drop in my life to arrive, as if there’s a destiny out there just waiting to be fulfilled.

What if it’s just being faithful where you are, loving people well, doing work that feels meaningful… even if no one claps?
It’s no wonder I mentioned the importance of clapping for yourself in a previous post because, truly, if you don’t, no one else will.

Don’t get me wrong, I still have dreams. But I’ve been learning that ordinary isn’t failure. It’s life. It’s rhythm. It’s where peace lives.

Sometimes, when things are taken away from us, dreams, relationships, jobs, and even health. It’s easy to feel like we’re falling behind. Like God overlooked us. But here’s the truth that continues to anchor me:

Anything God takes away, He always replaces with the same or better.

Maybe not immediately. Maybe not in the same form we hoped for, but always with intention.

I’m reminded of Job’s story. After everything he lost, the Bible says:

“The Lord blessed the latter part of Job’s life more than the former part…” - Job 42:12

And in Joel 2:25, there’s another promise:

“I will restore to you the years that the locust has eaten…”

That speaks to me on a soul level.

I don’t know what you’ve lost or what you’re grieving, but I just wanted to say: maybe it’s okay to stop chasing greatness for the sake of it. Maybe life isn’t about becoming someone the world can’t ignore… but becoming someone who knows their value, even in silence.

Let the world shout. You… just be. And trust that what’s meant for you will find its way, maybe quieter, maybe slower, but always fuller.

 

YOU ALREADY HAVE WHAT IT TAKES! START, EVEN IF YOU’RE AFRAID

 

There’s something powerful about pausing long enough to recognize this one truth: you already have what it takes.

So many of us spend our lives waiting. Waiting for the right time, the right opportunity, the right sign. We hesitate. We tell ourselves that once the fear goes away, we’ll finally move. But fear isn’t a stop sign; it’s a natural part of stepping into something bigger than where we are now.

That’s why I believe this: sometimes, the best thing you can do is do it afraid.

Fear doesn't always disappear before action. Sometimes, it fades because of action. Think of all the things you've already survived, all the challenges you've handled, all the moments you didn’t think you could get through, yet here you are. You didn’t wait for bravery to arrive fully formed. You moved anyway. And that’s exactly how you grow.

Life isn’t about arriving. We often imagine there's some final destination when we’ve made it, when things feel easier, when we’re finally recognized. But that’s not how life works. Life is about chasing what sets your heart on fire. It’s about pursuing what matters, not reaching a moment where everything is suddenly perfect. The beauty is in the journey, not the arrival.

And let’s talk about leverage because we all have it. Sometimes we downplay our gifts or assume that what we have isn’t enough. However, the truth is that you already possess many tools. The network you’ve built, the skills you’ve developed, the small wins you’ve collected; those are your leverage. You don’t have to wait for something bigger to begin. You just have to use what’s already in your hand.

Look around. The problems you notice in the world aren’t random. They’re signals. You’re not meant just to observe them; you’re equipped to be the solution. Whether it's a lack of something in your community, a gap in your industry, or a voice that needs to be heard, your noticing it means you’re meant to do something about it.

So often, the thing holding us back isn’t a lack of talent, time, or opportunity. It’s comfort. We stay stuck in the familiar, not because we love it but because it’s safe. But comfort is not where growth lives. The reason you're not moving forward might be because you're still too comfortable where you are.

Purpose demands discomfort. It asks you to leave behind what’s predictable in exchange for what’s possible.

It’s important to have something in your life. Something that fills your time and gives you a reason to wake up… That’s the purpose. Purpose doesn’t always have to be loud or glamorous. Sometimes, it’s just something that grounds you. Something that gives meaning to your hours. A mission. A dream. A project. A role you play in someone’s life.

If you can find that “something,” protect it. Nurture it. It doesn’t have to be perfect; it just has to be yours.

So, here’s your reminder today:
Stop waiting. Stop second-guessing. Stop assuming someone else is more qualified, more ready, more deserving.

You already have what it takes.
Move, even if you’re afraid.
Chase, even if the end isn’t clear.
Use what you’ve got.
Be the solution.
And don’t settle in comfort if you know you were made for more.

Your next chapter isn’t waiting for perfection.
It’s waiting for you to begin.

 

STOP HOLDING ON TO POTENTIAL, START CHOOSING REALITY!

 

How Do You Make It Work?

I’ve been sitting with this question lately: How do you make it work? Life, dreams, relationships, money, goals, all of it. It’s a question that creeps in quietly, especially when you’re doing all the things, showing up, pushing through, even healing and growing, and yet somehow… things still don’t seem to work.

I’m learning that sometimes, it doesn’t work because it doesn’t work. Not because you're not trying hard enough. Not because you're not smart or gifted or worthy. Simply because life doesn't always align just because you want it to, and that’s a hard pill to swallow. Especially when you’re someone who sees potential everywhere. You see it in people, in yourself, in projects, in ideas that spark at 2 a.m. The “what it could be if only…” mindset is so easy to slip into. But sometimes “if only” never comes. And you can end up wasting so much energy trying to force things to fit that were never designed to align in the first place.

Seeing Potential vs. Setting Expectations

One thing I’ve had to unpack is how my view of others’ potential has sometimes been more about my own expectations, expectations rooted in what I would do if I had what they had.

“If I had that platform, I’d use it to…”
“If I had that kind of partner, I wouldn’t take them for granted.”
“If I had that opportunity, I’d never let it go.”

But the truth is, that’s not their story, it’s mine projected onto them. And it’s not fair. We all carry different weights, different fears, and different wounds. What seems like an obvious step to you might be a terrifying leap to someone else. And even when you see someone “wasting” their opportunity, it’s still their path to walk.

That realization can be grounding. It humbles you. It brings you back to yourself.

Love, Potential, and Letting Go

This idea of potential also spills over into relationships. Romantic friendships, even family dynamics. How often have we loved someone for their potential, not for who they truly are in the present moment?

You think, If only they healed… if only they grew in this way… if only they just saw themselves the way I see them. You pour and wait and hope, and in the process, you forget to ask the most important question: Is what they’re giving me right now enough for me, or do I have my own unrealistic expectations of them?

It’s a difficult thing to admit, especially when you’ve invested your heart, your time, your prayers. But holding onto someone or something because of who they could be can weigh you down. You stay too long in situations because you’re in love with a version of a person that doesn’t exist. You delay decisions because you’re waiting for someone else’s breakthrough, not realizing it might be costing you yours.

Choosing better doesn’t mean becoming cold or selfish. It means becoming clearer. It means learning to base your choices not just on what you feel, but on what’s there. What someone is showing you now, not what they might become later. That shift in thinking can completely transform the way you navigate love, friendships, and your own journey.

Using the Mirror: What Can You Do With What You Have?

Here’s where it comes full circle.

The same way we tend to project expectations on others, we also need to learn to reflect those high standards back to ourselves, to stop beating ourselves up, and to measure wisely.

Instead of asking, What would I do if I had what they had? ask:
What can I do with what I have right now?

That’s the true scale of growth.

Not what you’d do if you had more money, more support, more time, more freedom, but what you’re doing with the little you’ve got. That’s where resilience lives. That’s where clarity grows. And that’s how you begin to make things work, not perfectly, not magically, but truthfully.

Start where you are. Don’t glamorize someone else’s chapter over your own. Learn to love people as they are, not as they might become. Let go of expectations that only leave you empty. And when things don’t work, don’t take it as a sign that you’re incapable. It just means that version isn’t you.

And that’s okay.

Keep adjusting. Keep refining. Keep choosing peace over potential.
And most importantly, don’t forget to give yourself the same patience you give everyone else.
You’re allowed to grow at your own pace. You’re allowed to let go.
You’re allowed to start again with what you have, right where you are.

“DON’T MINUS YOUR MOMENTS”, A GENTLE REMINDER TO BE PRESENT!

 

So I was having one of those deep, heart-spilling chats with my girl Ciru Ivy... not sure if she’s okay with me using her government name, but here we are. You know those conversations that start off as casual check-ins and somehow dig their way into the soul? Yeah, one of those.

We were talking about life, dreams, goals... the usual spiral of “I haven’t done this” and “I thought by now I’d have achieved that.” I found myself in this space of low-key complaining, feeling like I was falling behind or not doing enough. And in true Ciru fashion, she paused and said something that froze time for a second.

“Don’t minus your moments.”

Whew. Let that sit.

It hit me like a soft slap to the soul. Not harsh... but firm. And so true.

She was reminding me that in my pursuit of big goals and those dreamy milestones, I’ve been overlooking the beauty in what I already have. Things I prayed for. Things I hoped would happen “one day.” And now that they’re here... I’m not even fully appreciating them because my eyes are too fixed on what’s next.

Like spending time with my parents, laughing with my siblings, being able to wake up and do something I love, even in small doses. These things are real. They matter. And they’re happening now. However, I’ve been bypassing them because they don’t appear to be a grand achievement on paper.

How many of us do that?

We keep chasing the next big thing... the next win... the next sign that we're making it. And in that chase, we miss out on the quiet joys that surround us daily. Moments that are soaked in love, comfort, and peace... even if they don’t come with trophies or applause.

Ciru’s words stayed with me. I kept thinking... why do we do that? Why do we keep forgoing what’s important, especially when some of it is literally what we once cried or prayed for?

I think part of it is the world we live in. Everything is fast. Everyone’s posting milestones. Everyone’s “doing big things.” So even on our good days, we feel like we’re behind. We feel like unless it’s something worth broadcasting, it’s not worth celebrating. And that’s a lie... a sneaky one.

There’s something so sacred about practicing in private. About enjoying what you do without the pressure to perform or prove anything. Whether it's creating art, writing, cooking, resting, or simply laughing with your people. That quiet presence... that soft joy... It’s not small. It’s everything.

I'm learning to sit in those moments more. To notice them. To hold them a little tighter and say thank you.

Because the truth is, the present matters. This current version of life… yes, even the messy, unfiltered parts, has meaning. And while I still believe in dreaming and reaching for more, I don't want to be so forward-focused that I miss the grace right here with me.

So now, when I catch myself spiraling into “I haven’t done enough,” I hear Ciru’s voice in my head saying, “Don’t minus your moments.” It reminds me to pause. To breathe. To look around at the people, the spaces, the peace I already have... and to know that I am not behind. I am living.

And that’s enough.

 

PROVIDENCE IN EVERY STEP: MY MANIFESTO FOR A MEANINGFUL LIFE

 

As I reflect on the year as we’re halfway through with the guiding word, which has carried me through ‘Providence’, I’m drawn to the manifesto that hangs on my wall, a daily reminder of truths I hold dear. Each morning, I wake up to those printed words, and they ground me. Every new day is a testament to divine providence, a quiet assurance that even amid chaos, there is a greater, beautifully orchestrated plan at work. This blog is a heartfelt reflection of the lessons I’ve embraced, shaped by my creativity, purpose, and faith journey. May these words uplift and guide you, as they inspire me.

1. All things work out together for my good.

This truth is the anchor in my storm. Even when things fall apart or are delayed, I’ve learned to trust that there's a higher reason. Just as Romans 8:28 promises, “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him…”, I choose to see setbacks as setups for greater breakthroughs.

2. God knows and that's enough.

Providence begins with surrender. I’ve let go of the need to control every outcome and have found peace in knowing that God sees the entire picture. Isaiah 55:8–9 reminds us that His thoughts are not our thoughts, and His ways are far beyond ours. If He knows, then I don’t have to, and His knowing is enough. That alone is my reassurance that He will see me through.

 3. Never give up!

There were seasons when quitting seemed like the easier option, but I pressed on. Every ‘no’ became a redirection. When you hold on even when it hurts, you align with the promise of Galatians 6:9: “Do not grow weary…for at the proper time we will reap a harvest…”

4. Don’t beat yourself up for things you can't change; instead, focus on fixing what you can.

Regret only wastes today’s energy. I’ve learned to let go of the uncontrollable and take ownership of what I can influence. That is the essence of wisdom and knowing the difference (echoing the Serenity Prayer).

5. Have faith!

Faith fuels everything. From launching new projects to navigating personal losses, believing in what I can’t yet see has been my superpower. Hebrews 11:1 defines faith as “the assurance of things hoped for…” That’s my compass in uncertainty.

6. Believe that you can!

Self-belief isn’t arrogance, it’s acceptance of the gifts you’ve been given. When I doubted, I looked at what I’d already overcome and remembered, “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me” (Philippians 4:13).

7. Missions without a goal are pointless; so always set goals and achieve them.

Wandering without a vision leads to frustration. Every art piece, business venture, or children’s book I’ve completed started with clear goals, and God's provision met me in the planning. Goals give direction and purpose to our passion. They help us measure progress and stay focused when distractions come. Even faith-filled dreams need structure. “Write the vision and make it plain…” (Habakkuk 2:2) reminds us that clarity invites action and movement. When we align our goals with God’s guidance, we don’t just move forward, we move with purpose.

8. Actions speak louder than words.

People remember what you do more than what you say. That’s why I strive to live authentically, letting my life reflect my values. Words are easy, but integrity is action. James 2:17 says, “Faith by itself, if not accompanied by action, is dead.” So I create, love, serve, and give boldly, letting my actions preach when my words are silent.

9. Never be intimidated!

Imposter syndrome once paralyzed me. But I’ve learned that no one else has my exact story, my voice, or my vision. God doesn’t call the qualified; He qualifies the called. So now I stand tall, knowing that if He placed the dream in my heart, He will equip me for the journey. “The righteous are as bold as a lion” (Proverbs 28:1), and so am I.

10. Just because you keep failing when you try doesn’t mean you won’t succeed eventually.

Every failure has taught me more than success ever could. It’s not a dead end; it’s a detour that refines, redirects, and strengthens you. Like clay in the Potter’s hands (Jeremiah 18), I am being molded through each setback. Keep showing up. Keep trying. Victory often lies on the other side of perseverance.

11. Always do your best no matter what.

Excellence is a form of worship. It’s not about perfection, but about giving your whole heart. Whether I’m designing, writing, or helping someone publish their dream, I give it my all. Colossians 3:23 reminds me, “Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord…” That’s how I show honor to providence.

12. Don’t be afraid to challenge yourself.

Growth lives just beyond the edge of comfort. From starting my own business to pushing creative boundaries, I’ve learned that every challenge reveals a new strength. God often leads us into places that stretch us, because He knows what we’re capable of, even when we don’t. Challenge is not punishment; it’s preparation.

13. Success is for everyone; we all get a chance at it.

There’s enough room at the table for all of us. I’ve stopped comparing my pace to others and started nurturing my own lane. God’s blessings are not limited; His grace overflows. We each get a chance at success when we walk faithfully in our calling. Be inspired by others, but run your own race.

14. Let go and let God.

Holding on too tightly to outcomes breeds anxiety. I’ve found the most peace in surrender, in loosening my grip and letting God do what only He can. Psalm 46:10 says, “Be still and know that I am God.” Letting go isn’t weakness; it’s wisdom. And it opens the door for providence to move.

15. You are here for a reason!

Your very existence is intentional. Every gift, every challenge, and every season is woven into a greater purpose. I wake up each day reminded that I’m not random. And neither are you. Jeremiah 1:5 speaks this truth: “Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you…” You were designed for impact.

16. Work hard every day!

There’s no substitute for consistency. I’ve seen the fruit of disciplined effort in my work, my art, and even my healing. Talent is a gift, but effort is a choice. I’ve chosen to keep showing up, trusting that every small step matters. Because hard work, partnered with grace, is unstoppable.

17. Travel when you can.

Travel has expanded my vision and deepened my gratitude. Each new place reveals something fresh about the world and myself. It reminds me that God’s beauty is vast and endless. From coastal sunrises to savannah sunsets, creation itself whispers His wonder (Psalm 19:1).

18. Worrying about the unknown causes you to stress over nothing.

I’ve wasted too much time worrying about things that never happened. Worry drains today of its strength. Matthew 6:34 gently reminds us, “Do not worry about tomorrow…” When I trust God with what I can’t see, peace floods in. Tomorrow belongs to Him; today is mine to live.

19. Don’t take chance for granted.

Opportunities are seeds… They must be planted when they come. I’ve learned that hesitation can cost more than risk ever could. When God gives a nudge, move. Don’t sit on your dreams. Step out in faith and trust that grace will meet you there.

20. You are your reassurance.

There will be seasons where applause is absent and affirmation is quiet. I’ve had to be my own cheerleader, speaking life over my vision when no one else saw it. You are your own encouragement, your reminder that you are built for this. Speak to yourself with kindness and confidence.

21. Patience is a virtue!

I used to rush everything, but growth taught me to wait well. Patience has become a teacher, shaping humility, trust, and peace in me. Ecclesiastes 3:1 says, “There is a time for everything…” I’m learning that what’s mine will come at the perfect time.

22. Speak it into existence.

There is power in declaration. I’ve watched dreams take shape simply because I dared to speak them aloud. Words shape our world. Proverbs 18:21 says, “Life and death are in the power of the tongue.” So speak with intention, faith, and vision. Your words plant seeds.

23. The good news is that nothing lasts forever; bad times will pass, so cherish the good.

Life moves in seasons. I’ve sat through storms that felt endless, only to see the sun rise again. Pain is temporary, and joy is fleeting too, so I’ve learned to embrace both. Capture the good. Soak it in. Let it remind you, especially in the hard days, that light always returns.

24. Pray without ceasing!

Prayer is my lifeline. It’s where I breathe when I’m overwhelmed and where I anchor when I’m drifting. It’s not about perfect words; it’s about honest ones. 1 Thessalonians 5:17 says, “Pray continually.” For me, that looks like whispered thanks, silent pleas, and steady conversation with God all day long.

25. When you give, give without expecting anything back.

True generosity comes from the heart, not the hope of a return. Whether I’m giving my time, ideas, or resources, I’ve seen that giving without strings always brings a deeper kind of fulfillment. Sow with love, and let God handle the harvest.

26. Everything happens for a reason and happens in God’s timing.

This is the heartbeat of providence. I’ve seen delays that later made perfect sense, and losses that paved the way for better blessings. Every moment, the joyful, the painful, the quiet, is held in divine hands. Trust the process. God’s timing is always intentional, never random, and always right on time.

Final Thoughts: Walking in Providence...

This manifesto isn’t just a list; it’s a lifestyle. It’s how I align myself with grace, pursue purpose, and honor the God who orchestrates it all. Each phrase is a thread in the larger tapestry of my life, shaped by faith, resilience, creativity, and divine timing. May these words spark something in you, a reminder that your life is divinely timed and deeply meaningful. Living boldly, trusting the journey, believing that God is guiding your way!

THE ART OF EMBRACING THE UNEXPECTED

 

“Uncertainty and mystery are energies of life,” R.I. Fitzhenry once said… and the more I live and create, the more I feel the truth in that. Life is anything but predictable. We make plans, set goals, map out the weeks and years ahead, and try our best to stay on track… but somehow, God always seems to have a different idea. And if we’re being honest, that might just be the most beautiful part.

Imagine for a moment if life went exactly as planned. No twists, no sudden detours, no unexpected encounters or opportunities showing up at just the right or wildly inconvenient time. Wouldn’t it all get a little dull? A little too perfect to feel real? In the same way a story loses its spark when you already know the ending, life loses its flavor when everything is certain. It’s the mystery, the not-knowing, the surprise of it all that makes things meaningful. The unknown is where life blooms… not in the carefully scheduled, but in the in-between moments we never saw coming.

As a creative, I experience this mystery almost daily. When I sit down to design, whether it’s a piece of art, a logo, a book cover, or a digital sketch, I might start with a vision in mind. I might have a plan, a mood, a color palette… but somewhere along the way, something shifts. The design starts to breathe on its own. It takes a different turn, softens in areas I didn’t expect, or bursts into something bolder than I had imagined. What I end up with often surprises even me.

There’s a quiet magic in that… in creating something that doesn’t look exactly like the version in my head, but somehow feels more alive. Each finished piece becomes a mix of thought, emotion, timing, and something else I can’t quite name. It’s like a dance with the unknown… part instinct, part imagination, part surrender. And even when the process feels unsure, the outcome almost always carries a beauty I didn’t plan for.

I think life is like that too. We don’t need to have it all figured out. We just need to keep showing up with open hands, with curiosity, with courage, and a little faith. Sometimes things don’t go the way we hoped… but other times, they turn out far better than we dreamed. The breathtaking parts of life are often the ones we didn’t see coming… the unplanned detours, the chance encounters, the work that unfolds better than we envisioned.

So here’s to the mystery, the unpredictable, the unplanned. Here’s to designing, living, and dreaming without all the answers… and still making something beautiful.

WHEN NO ONE CLAPS… CLAP ANYWAY

 

There are days as a creative when it feels like you’re shouting into a void… posting, sharing, building, pouring your heart into something only you seem to believe in. The world scrolls past, barely noticing, maybe even laughing, and deep down, you start to wonder if any of it means anything at all.

But here’s what I’ve come to realize:
It does.

Most people won’t support you at the beginning.
Not because they don’t love you.
Not because they’re against you.
But because they can’t yet see what you see.

They wait for the success, the finished product, the results that scream, “This is worth it.”
But we, the creatives, live in the process.
We create long before there’s applause…
Long before the outcome is clear.

There will be many moments when the only eyes on your work are your own.
No feedback. No likes. No sales. No confirmation that it matters.
And in those moments, you have to choose to show up anyway…
Not because it makes sense,
But because it’s in you.

I imagine mornings on a balcony…
Measuring success in the quiet, coffee in hand, eyes closed, heart full of questions.
I wonder if it’s all worth it, just like in my illustrated image.
But I know those moments are still part of the journey.
They remind me to breathe.
To be present.
To find peace in the pause.
Because of that stillness?
That solitude?
It’s where the next idea is born.
Where I gather the strength to try again.

I’ve had to learn to cheer for myself in the quiet.
When hope feels like a whisper
And doubt screams louder than the dream.

But just because no one sees it yet
Doesn’t mean it’s not working.
Just because I haven’t “made it”
Doesn’t mean I’m not becoming.

Every sketch.
Every caption.
Every late-night edit.
Every post that didn’t go viral…
It’s all part of something bigger.

We don’t always see the fruit right away,
But the seeds matter.
What you’re planting today will grow.
It might take longer than expected.
It might look different than imagined.
But one day, it will bloom.

Until then…
Let it cook.
Water it.
Protect it from doubt.
Speak life over it.

Even when it doesn’t make sense.
Even when you feel foolish.
Even when you’re tempted to quit.

Clap anyway.
Applaud the effort.
Celebrate the heart, the vision.

Because one day, they’ll catch up.
They’ll see what you saw all along.
And when they do,
You’ll already be standing in the reality
Of what you once built in silence.

So if no one’s clapping for you today…
Clap anyway.
It’s not for nothing.
It’s never for nothing.