The heart doesn’t know numbers, but it does know math.

One morning, while I was septic in the hospital, I took a nap for about an hour. When I woke up, my entire family was in the room, looking somber. As soon as they noticed I was awake, they smiled. They chatted with me—I went along with it and enjoyed their presence.

Then the moment hit me like a slap.
I understood why they had gathered.
The doctors and nurses had informed my family about my condition before telling me.

My brother noticed the shift in me and quietly asked a question about my will. The antibiotics weren’t working. The doctors believed I only had a few days left.

After they left, I couldn’t sleep. I was hallucinating—seeing faces, hearing the voices of loved ones. I felt overwhelming love… and simultaneously, the weight of departure.
It was one of the hardest nights of my life.

I still don’t know what’s better—knowing, or the suddenness.
But I do know this: Loving is my most meaningful breath.

I’m a well—drop your bucket.
The more anyone takes, the more love there is.
And I am fortunate.
The people in my life understand this and give freely.
Because it is in giving that we come to know and feel our spark.

We tend to weigh risks versus benefits when deciding on an action—whether it’s taking a step, sharing, or giving.  

But whatever stories we tell ourselves about risk, and whatever illusion fear creates, it all fades the moment we choose to care.  

In that moment, we no longer calculate what we gain—we only feel what they receive. The one we care and love for become most important.

That is love.

One way to recognize love is by seeing the abundance in someone we care for, revealed through our own act of caring.  

And when we allow ourselves to embrace the care given to us, to acknowledge their love, we uncover meaning.

Perfection is imperfection.  

Life is a journey—not a perfect one.  

None of us escapes bleeding.  

We each carry our wounds and scars.  

I learned to say, I forgive you. 

And I learned to ask myself, before I answer:  

Is this who I am?  

Is this how I respect?  

Is this all I can understand?  

Is this how I care?  

Is this how I garden?  

Is this how I love?

And how do we give?
By being open to receiving.

I’ve learned that the gracious path to any question—or any gift—is to share my story, and let the other person understand. A story sparks the imagination. It stirs questions, births answers, offers solutions, and paints a beautiful visual symphony.
The kindest, most honest, and clearest next step is simply to ask.

How else could I truly understand someone, if not by walking beside them through their stories and questions?

The echo of those we love—and those who love us—resides in our hearts and minds.
That connection is belonging.
It is home.
It is hearth.
It is the story that inspires.

The ripple effects of our choices reach beyond what our eyes can see.

So choose freedom.
Don’t build a relationship box and lock yourself inside.

Time is your most precious commodity, do not waste it on people that do not welcome you and do not bother to walk a mile in your shoes.

This is my peculiar lesson.
And my story.

What story lives inside you?