To the Ones Trying to Love Their Life in a World That Feels Impossible to Love
Dear friend,
The steam rises from a forgotten cup of coffee.
The light hits the window just so.
For a moment, it feels like the world is still turning toward beauty—and then the next headline lands, and the body tightens again.
We breathe shallow. We move. We scroll. We ache.
We are trying to love our life while living inside a world that keeps tearing at its own seams.
We are trying to be grateful, to hold those we love alongside the softness that remains.
We are trying to build futures that feel honest and kind.
But some mornings the weight in the chest is undeniable—the press of fear, the pierce of helplessness, the quiet wondering if tending to our small lives is enough when the world is burning.
And yet, we know this too: life is the answer.
To live—fully, truthfully, embodied—is our response.
To keep showing up for the pulse in our own ribs
is how we remember that we belong to something holy.
Truth walks with us through this, friend.
Not as a preacher or a judge, but as a steady companion with rough, gentle hands.
It doesn’t promise comfort; it promises presence.
Truth presses its palm to the center of our sternum and whispers,
I will never abandon you. I will only ask you to stay awake.
So we stay.
We stay with the trembling,
with the heaviness that pools behind the eyes,
with the strange miracle that beauty still insists on arriving—steam rising, light shifting, people moving, breath catching.
We stay because this staying is what keeps us human.
We stay because our aliveness is a form of resistance.
To live your life, to love it even here, even now, isn’t denial—it’s devotion.
When we advocate for our own aliveness, we strengthen the muscle that can (and must) advocate for life everywhere.
This is how we keep the world from hardening completely.
We become the softness that holds it open.
With love from my heart to yours,
Practice Postscript
Where the letter stops being read and starts being lived.
The Reflection
Where do you feel the weight of the world in your body today—in your chest, your jaw, your belly?
Name it. Place a hand there. Whisper, I’m still here.
The Somatic Practice
For a single minute, breathe into that place.
Feel the inhale stretch the space around it; feel the exhale soften what’s clenched.
Let your breath remind your body that you are not your fear—you are the one who can meet it.
Living in the Question
What does it look like—this week—to live as someone your truth can trust?
The Revolution of Aliveness
The world needs more people who are fully alive—people who practice what they long for, who let their joy and truth become contagious.
There’s no better time to start living the way your body has been asking you to live—to reclaim the abundance, love, and belonging that are already reaching for you.
That’s one way we join the revolution: by becoming so lit up, so alive, that our very lives become their own form of protest and prayer.
If you’re ready to begin, let’s walk together.
