Looking Forward Through the Rearview
I didn’t plan to write this today.
This morning, I opened Facebook, scrolled past a few things, and then—boom—it did that thing it does and served up a memory I didn’t go looking for. Actually… it served up two. One from 2021. The other from 2022. Both deeply honest. Both from very different emotional places.
Reading them stopped me in my tracks. Suddenly, I was face-to-face with past versions of myself—one who was barely hanging on, and one who had found his footing again. It caught me off guard and sent me into a spiral of reflection I didn’t expect.
And that’s what led me here—writing this update four years later.
Faith Without the Fix
For a long time, I thought faith meant clarity. Or peace. Or at least relief. I thought if I believed hard enough, trusted deeply enough, or prayed the right way, something would shift—my body, my circumstances, my joy. And when those things didn’t change, I quietly wondered what that said about me.
But lately, I’ve been realizing that faith isn’t always revealed through resolution. Sometimes it’s revealed through endurance. Through staying present when the situation doesn’t improve. Through choosing honesty over performance. Through continuing to believe even when life doesn’t feel good.
Lonely Doesn’t Mean Broken
Loneliness doesn’t always announce itself loudly. Sometimes it slips in quietly, even when life looks full from the outside. Full calendars. Full rooms. Full conversations. And yet, beneath all of that, there’s an ache that doesn’t quite go away. I’ve learned this week that loneliness doesn’t mean something is broken. Often, it means something has shifted—and I’m still learning how to stand where I am now.
Choosing Integrity, One Year Later
A year ago yesterday, my professional world was shattered.
There’s no dramatic way to dress that up. A routine request. A meeting I believed was ordinary. And then—without warning—the ground disappeared beneath me. No explanation. No conversation. Just an ending I didn’t see coming and didn’t understand. One moment I was fully employed, invested, and planning for the future. The next, I was untethered—left holding questions that never received answers.
The year that followed has been anything but simple.
Living in the And
I think I’ve been waiting for my life to start again. Waiting for my body to feel better, for the pain to ease, for things to go back to the way they were—or at least to something recognizable. I’ve told myself that once I’m healed, once this chapter is over, then I’ll fully live again. But lately I’ve started to wonder what it would mean to stop waiting.