I opened the door this morning and was met with the sweetest song - a gentle offering to begin the day. A reminder that today doesn’t need to be rushed or pushed or filled with effort. It can simply be a soft, quiet melody.
I gave thanks for this message, especially as today marks the anniversary of my dad’s passing.
When we’re asked to continue living after losing someone we love, it can stir deep inner turmoil. The should haves, could haves, would haves rise up like old ghosts, lingering for years, sometimes turning inward as blame. Even though we know we can’t change the past, we often sit with the ache of our own regrets.
And so, we are offered questions - gentle guides back to the present moment, invitations to step off the spiraling path of repetition and return to life.
You don’t know how long you have here. So what are you doing with your time?
Are you living fully?
Are you doing what brings you joy?
Are you feeling lost, depressed, disconnected?
Where are you in your story right now?
How are you showing up as the hero in the journey of your own becoming?
And what are you doing to shape it?
We are all part of this dance of life. Our steps change as people come and go, as awareness deepens, and as emotions rise to speak their truths. This dance has never been ours alone. It is not meant to be. And while it may feel different in each moment, the invitation is always the same - allow the movement, allow the change.
Today, I sit in remembrance on the fourth anniversary of my father’s last breath. The number four holds the vibration of stability and the heart center - a space of openness, access, and acceptance.
So I ask you, in your sacred dance:
Are you open-minded?
Heart-centered?
Are you meeting life with curiosity or judgment, with resistance or surrender?
You don’t need to have all the answers - and truly, you can’t. We don’t always know how a choice will feel or what will unfold from it. That’s part of the mystery, the gift. We walk this life one breath, one moment at a time.
How will your sweet song begin today?
With love,
Susan