the lightness of being
When I was little, life was simple. Mornings started with the smell of pancakes and the sound of cartoons playing in the background. I’d sit at the table, feet swinging, syrup dripping down my chin, and I’d think the world was as sweet as the syrup on my plate.
Summer days were filled with the laughter of neighborhood kids, chasing each other through sprinklers, and riding bikes until the streetlights came on. We’d play hide and seek until our legs ached, but we never wanted the day to end. Back then, nothing was complicated. Nothing was heavy. Everything felt light, like the bubbles we blew into the air, watching them float away until they disappeared.
I used to believe that life would always be like that—full of sunshine and endless games. They never told me how things would change, how the world would grow more complex, and how my heart would have to grow stronger to keep up.
I remember when I first started noticing the cracks. It was subtle at first, like a tiny pebble in your shoe that you can’t quite shake out. The playground became quieter, the bike rides shorter, and the laughter less frequent. I didn’t understand it then, but looking back, I realize it was the beginning of something I wasn’t prepared for.
They tell you life isn’t supposed to be easy, but they never told me it would be this hard. They never told me how the nights would grow longer, filled with thoughts that wouldn’t let me sleep. They never told me how to navigate the feelings of loneliness, of confusion, or of the weight that sometimes feels too much to bear.
I wish someone had told me how to start living when life got hard. How to push through the pain, how to keep going when the path ahead seemed unclear. But no one did. I had to figure it out on my own.
But here’s the thing: even though they didn’t tell me, I found out. I learned that after all the pain, there comes a sense of peace. It doesn’t come all at once, and it doesn’t stay forever, but when it arrives, it feels like a deep breath after holding it in for too long. And when you get there, you’ll know.
You’ll start living again. Life will still be hard, but it will also be beautiful in ways you never imagined. The small things—the warmth of a friend’s smile, the comfort of a familiar song, the quiet moments when everything feels okay—those are the things that make it all worth it.
And once you start living, really living, everything becomes just a little bit easier. Not because the pain goes away, but because you remember how to breathe through it. You remember how to find the light even when it feels like the world is closing in around you.
I knew how to live this whole time. The pain just made me forget. But now, I’m starting to remember. And with every breath, with every step forward, life is becoming just a little bit easier.
