The wind moves the leaves on the trees causing the sunlight to dance on the porch; tiny goosebumps rise on my arms from the slight chill in the air. Visible patches of dark blue sweep across the lake where the breeze touches the water. Birds sing, conversing with one another in tiny tweets and chirps. This is the most quiet I have heard in months. But the absence of noise from my surroundings has caused my thoughts to become louder. At times the din is so constant, I find it hard to focus on my breath; inhale, exhale, expand, contract.

It’s been almost three months. May 2 was a day that, once again, changed my life. Scrolling through social media, I read posts insinuating that “everything happens for a reason,” or “in darkness there is light.” Time, they say, healing takes time. Yes. I know that. With a surgical history as extensive as mine, trust me, I know.

Here is what I am struggling to understand: what is my lesson? I’m picking up the little ones as the days press on. Being grateful for what I have, enjoying the quiet time but I feel like I am waiting for something big. Like a firework making its way up into the sky and then BOOM. Magic. There it is, right in front of you. Nothing like that has detonated for me yet. In fact, in this moment, that passion once ignited in my heart to share my story and continue my mission of erasing the boundaries of separation through yoga and writing – it’s extinguished.

As the ice shifts in my glass on the table next to me and I place my hand over my heart, I remind myself that these feelings are valid. The heavy sense of unworthiness and the befuddled return of sadness in my heart is difficult to shake. We have all been there. Taking the time to acknowledge and accept these feelings is al I can do. This is only a moment, in the grand scheme of things. If these moments warrant tears, so be it.

My hand still resting on my heart, the solid thump of vitality against my chest. I’m here and I’m doing the best that I can.