I have so many blog posts sitting unfinished, waiting to be posted, but life just keeps happening in real time.
This past week especially felt profound. Between everything unfolding with my family, medical conversations, and the emotional weight of it all, I found myself reflecting deeply on how precious and strange life really is.
By the end of the week, I could feel the accumulation of it all sitting heavily in my mind and body. I didn’t fully realize how emotionally exhausted I had become until one quiet moment the next morning.
I started my day the way I usually do — getting up early, making a cup of coffee, and scrolling through my phone. Somewhere in that scrolling, Run Like Hell by Pink Floyd showed up on my feed.
I pressed play.
The song had this relentless forward momentum to it, never really stopping long enough to breathe. It felt almost hypnotic.
Then I listened to it again.
And again.
Until I found myself sitting in the emotional chaos of the music.
It wasn’t even so much the lyrics themselves that resonated with me. It was the urgency of the music, the relentless drive of it, and the passion in the delivery that reached me.
Because it felt exactly like where I was emotionally.
Not literally running, but psychologically running.
Trying to manage.
Trying to respond.
Trying to anticipate.
Trying to handle everything.
Just trying to keep moving forward and stay functional while life keeps demanding motion from me.
And honestly, it can be exhausting.
It was at that point that I realized I needed to ground myself somehow, so I headed out into my gardens.
As I worked, I realized how much of my life lately has felt like running full speed toward some invisible finish line. But eventually, when you run hard enough and long enough, everything stops. You hear your own breathing. You feel the heaviness in your body. And in that stillness, you finally recognize how exhausted you actually are.
That feeling mirrored so much of what my life has been recently — years of caregiving, emotional endurance, holding systems together, and adapting to one new challenge after another.
It’s funny how moments like this can suddenly make me reflect on time itself. I found myself thinking about the scar on my chin from an ice skating accident when I was twelve years old, and the tiny mole on my leg that I’ve had for as long as I can remember. Small little markers quietly reminding me that underneath all the years, all the responsibilities, and all the versions of myself I’ve become… I’m still somehow the same person.
Lately I’ve also been thinking a lot about memories — how certain moments stay so vivid inside us, even as life continues moving forward around them.
Recently, I found myself revisiting the memory of a childhood crush, remembering it just like it happened yesterday. And it struck me how sometimes other people try to add unsolicited context to old memories, reshaping them into something different than what they genuinely meant to me at the time.
But maybe part of growing older is learning to trust your own emotional truth. To hold onto what felt real and meaningful, even as time continues trying to reinterpret it.
And maybe that’s part of being human. Carrying pieces of who you once were while continuing to evolve into someone new.
I believe what keeps me moving forward and from falling back into old habits is the belief that the universe isn’t going to give me more than I can handle.
And maybe that’s the point of all of this — realizing that I’m stronger than I ever gave myself credit for.
And trusting that this moment, too, will pass.
P.S. if you decide to listen to Run Like Hell, do yourself a favor — grab some EarPods, turn the volume up a bit, and disappear into it for a few minutes.