09/28/2025
I said one night that life felt heavy.
Too heavy.
Like carrying something I couldn’t put down,
but couldn’t explain either.
I said I didn’t know my dream,
didn’t know what I wanted,
didn’t even know who I was anymore.
It wasn’t a dramatic moment.
No tears, no silence breaking in half.
Just me rambling again,
letting words spill into the air,
the way I do when the quiet feels too loud.
The way I do when I’m trying to convince myself
I still make sense.
And then you said something so simple,
I almost missed it.
Like it slipped in through the side door
while I wasn’t looking.
But when it landed,
the world slowed just enough
for me to notice.
“You are gentle and kind.
Thoughtful and sweet.
You like ice cream.
And you love the color of the sunset,
not orange,
just the orange in a sunset.”
I laughed at first,
because how could that be an answer?
I wanted something bigger,
something that sounded like a revelation.
But then I realized,
you weren’t answering the question I asked.
You were answering the question underneath it.
The one I didn’t know how to say out loud.
Who am I?
And somehow,
you reminded me I didn’t need
to know the whole map of my life.
Not the grand plan.
Not the purpose I kept chasing.
Maybe it was enough
to be seen in the little things,
the soft things,
the pieces of me I’d forgotten were still mine.
It’s strange,
how someone naming you in fragments
can feel more whole
than you’ve felt in years.
How being reminded of ice cream and sunsets
can hold more truth
than all the answers you’ve been reaching for.
I don’t know my dream yet.
I don’t know who I’ll be tomorrow.
But for a moment, I knew who I was.
Not because I figured it out,
but because someone else saw it,
clear enough to hand it back to me.
That someone could name me
when I couldn’t name myself.
That someone could find me
even when I thought I was lost.
And for the first time in a long time,
that felt like an answer.
And that felt like enough.
I hope one day someone says it to you too.
I hope you have someone who reminds you of the little things,
the small and ordinary truths that are already yours.
I hope it makes you smile,
the way the orange in sunsets does.
And I hope it feels like enough,
the way you already are.