I am a photojourneylist, sharing pics and rambling from post to post

 I find the chaotic theater of modern dating very unappetizing.  There's chatter about the Swipe right, swipe left strategy (sounds like Russian roulette to me); squinting at someone's overly filtered photos, wondering if their bio is a carefully curated fiction—and feeling a nauseating cringe rise in my chest when I see horribly framed selfies.   Online dating?  That's so hit and miss one might as well play the loser's game of buying a lottery ticket.  Blindfolded dating?  If only!  Imagine a scenario where you and the prospect are evaluating each other based on conversation, expression quality, and thought processes.  But what if the audio love of your life turns out to look like Shrek?  How does one compensate for the Romantic need to have physical attraction?   These setups feel less like meeting someone and more like an audition I  signed up for against my better judgment.

It's not that I don't believe in love or relationships—far from it.  I think strong, romantic partnerships are one of life's best experiences.  But they should be built on something real: kindness, shared passions, an openness to truly wanting to know and accept  each other.   What turns me off is the charade.  The bravado of people who brag endlessly about themselves but never ask a genuine question for the purpose of getting to know the other.  The ones who lie about their circumstances and  their intentions, as if starting with petits canards could be forgiven down the road once the unsuspecting new partner falls under the spell of seduction.  Or the over-confident types who think charm alone is enough to skate by, ignoring the fact that connection requires time and effort.

Dating culture feels like a speculative market: everyone overvaluing themselves, hiding flaws, pitching their best angle.  The whole thing leaves me cold.  I'd rather skip the exhausting performance and meet people naturally—through shared interests or serendipitous moments.  Because when the connection is there, it's unmistakable.  It doesn't need filters or sales pitches.  Everyone wants to feel the fireworks in their loins, but to sustain that one must trust the slow burn; a steady and gradual growth of healthy tension and emotional depth laced with flirtation and humor.   there is a certain satisfaction in delaying gratification; notice that the most succulent breads take time to rise, the most flavorful and balanced wines take time to ferment.  

Maybe I'm asking too much.  Maybe I'm just unwilling to settle.  But I'd rather wait for something real than wade through the swamp of "good enough."  Call me old-fashioned, but I believe love should be a bold pursuit, a daring undertaking, a worthwhile gamble—not an onerous task that feels jaded and uninspired.    This odyssey however, must start with ourselves.  If the answer to the question, "Would you date yourself?" is a resounding "yes!" then you have won your own ticket to ride!  Go forth with your wish list in hand (but do not get attached to an outcome) and relish the process of meeting someone, trying them on for size.  If it's a fit, the love journey begins.  If it's not, accept this fact and move on, this is not a fail, it's a clarification. 

By the way, I have a list too:  a partner with the time, inclination, resources, and health to go on adventures and experience new things.   Someone that inspires me to say, "OOH!"

Rosario: Empress of words and wisdom

They say love comes when you least expect it, and in my case, it arrived wrapped in a storm of words, wisdom, and wit named Rosario.  She is the Great Dame of our little world—a woman so alive with spirit and drama that the stage of her life seems too small to contain her.  Rosario is a force: bold, boundless, and with a voice that dances somewhere between the most elegant  Spanish and the cheekiest street slang.  If her tongue were a sword, it would be both razor-sharp and dipped in honey.

Rosario is not one for half-measures.  Her faith—deep and unshakable—isn't just a private glow but a bonfire, warming and lighting the space around her.  She talks about her God like she talks about everything else: with reverence wrapped in realness.  She can discuss scripture with the same ease she recounts a story about outrunning some mischief as a teenager.  She's got a way of weaving them together so that her wisdom feels less like a sermon and more like a late-night chat over a good bottle of wine. (Not that she needs wine—Rosario is intoxicating all on her own.)

This woman could win an Oscar just for her way of telling a story.  Whether she's recalling her mother's old sayings or reenacting some neighborhood drama from back in the day, Rosario doesn't just talk; she performs.  She has this knack for dropping pearls of wisdom in the middle of her tales, like a magician pulling doves from a hat.  And she doesn't spare anyone her honesty.  Got a lie brewing?  She'll sniff it out.  Cutting corners?  She'll call you on it.  And somehow, when she does, it feels less like a scolding and more like a hug wrapped in the truth.

Her voice is its own symphony—formal when the moment calls for it, laced with local flavor when she's kicking back.  She'll mix precise grammar with slang so seamlessly, it's like watching someone toss a perfect salad.   Her eloquent quips and insightful observations are deliciously served with a side dish of  playful and mischievous  chit chat.   It's a secret handshake with life.

What's remarkable is how Rosario has won my heart without even trying.  She doesn't need to.  Her vitality is magnetic.  Her kindness feels like a warm blanket.  Her wisdom?  It sneaks up on you, smacks you gently, and makes you better for it.  And, oh, the way she moves through this world—with her church in one hand and her stories in the other—it's like watching a master at work.

Rosario doesn't just live; she lives.  And she's taught everyone around her to do the same: to speak truth with love, to laugh even when it's messy, and to embrace the divine in the everyday.  She's our Great Dame, a gem of a soul who shines brighter than she knows.

If there's one thing I've learned from Rosario, it's this: life is too short to play small or stay silent.  And so, here's to her—our muse, our mentor, our dramatic, divine inspiration.  Great Dame, you've stolen my heart and given me the gift of seeing the world through your luminous eyes.  Thank you for showing me what it means to truly believe without apology, to love fiercely, to live a balanced life.

Rosario: Emperatriz de las palabras y la sabiduría.

Dicen que el amor llega cuando menos lo esperas, y en mi caso, llegó envuelto en una tormenta de palabras, sabiduría y agudeza llamada Rosario.  Es la Gran Dama de nuestro pequeño mundo: una mujer tan llena de espíritu y drama que el escenario de su vida parece demasiado pequeño para contenerla.  Rosario es una fuerza: audaz, desbordante, y con una voz que baila entre el español más elegante y el argot más pícaro.  Si su lengua fuera una espada, sería a la vez afilada como una navaja y bañada en miel.

Rosario no es de medias tintas. Su fe—profunda e inquebrantable—no es solo un brillo privado, sino una hoguera que calienta e ilumina el espacio a su alrededor.  Habla de su Dios como habla de todo lo demás: con una reverencia envuelta en autenticidad. Puede discutir las escrituras con la misma facilidad con la que relata una historia de cómo escapó de alguna travesura en su juventud.  Tiene una habilidad para entrelazarlas de tal manera que su sabiduría no se siente como un sermón, sino como una charla nocturna acompañada de una buena botella de vino. (Aunque no necesita vino—Rosario embriaga por sí sola).

Esta mujer podría ganar un Óscar solo por su manera de contar historias.  Ya sea recordando los dichos de su madre o recreando algún drama del vecindario de antaño, Rosario no solo habla; ella interpreta.  Tiene un don para soltar perlas de sabiduría en medio de sus relatos, como un mago sacando palomas de un sombrero.  Y no le ahorra a nadie su honestidad.  ¿Tienes una mentira a punto de salir?  Ella la detectará.  ¿Haciendo trampa?  Ella te lo señalará.  Y de alguna manera, cuando lo hace, se siente menos como un regaño y más como un abrazo envuelto en verdad.

Su voz es una sinfonía en sí misma—formal cuando la ocasión lo exige, llena de sabor local cuando está relajada.  Mezcla una gramática precisa con el argot de una forma tan natural que es como ver a alguien preparar una ensalada perfecta.  Sus frases elocuentes y observaciones perspicaces se sirven con una pizca de charla juguetona y traviesa.  Es un apretón de manos secreto con la vida.

Lo extraordinario es cómo Rosario ha ganado mi corazón sin siquiera intentarlo.  No lo necesita.  Su vitalidad es magnética.  Su bondad se siente como una manta cálida.  ¿Su sabiduría?  Te toma por sorpresa,  te sacude suavemente y te mejora. Y, ay, la forma en que se mueve por el mundo—con su iglesia en una mano y sus historias en la otra—es como ver a una maestra en acción.

Rosario no solo vive; ella vive.  Y nos ha enseñado a todos los que la rodean a hacer lo mismo: a hablar la verdad con amor, a reír incluso en el caos, y a abrazar lo divino en lo cotidiano.  Es nuestra Gran Dama, una joya de alma que brilla más de lo que sabe.

Si hay algo que he aprendido de Rosario, es esto: la vida es demasiado corta para jugar en pequeño o quedarse en silencio.  Así que, aquí va por ella—nuestra musa, nuestra mentora, nuestra inspiración dramática y divina.  Gran Dama,  has robado mi corazón y me has dado el regalo de ver el mundo a través de tus ojos luminosos.  Gracias por mostrarme lo que significa creer sin disculpas, amar con intensidad, y vivir una vida equilibrada.

Finding Grace in the Darkest Storms

Life has a wicked sense of humor. One minute, you're cruising along on smooth seas, and the next, you're caught in a hurricane—sometimes literally.  But here's the thing about storms: they're great teachers. They'll knock you flat, soak your pride, and leave you with the choice to either cry or laugh.  Personally, I prefer to laugh, even if it starts as a slightly unhinged chuckle in the middle of chaos.

I learned this during Hurricane Harvey, a time when Texas transformed into an unwilling set for Waterworld.  For a terrifying moment, I found myself in a swampy deluge, the kind of current that takes no prisoners.  Imagine sharing the murky waters with fire ants huddled together in red mounds, looking for somewhere to land (my skin), and Fighting the violent surge was useless—an exercise in futility and exhaustion.  Instead, I did what any sane (read: desperate) person would do. I stopped fighting.  I flipped onto my back, stared at the churning sky, and floated dead-man style.  In that moment of surrender, a thought hit me, sharp and clear: At least my kids aren't here to see this mess.  Thank you for that, universe.

That gratitude was my lifeline.  I meditated there in the pouring rain, breathing deeply despite the chaos around me. I wasn't fighting for stability anymore.  I was harmonizing with the current, riding the storm instead of trying to beat it.  That brief reprieve gave me the energy to swim to safety.  And yes, I laughed later—half from relief, half from the absurdity of the situation.

Stability vs. Harmony: The Rip Current Analogy

That experience taught me the difference between stability and harmony.  Stability is what we crave: a predictable, unshakable ground where everything is in our control.  But let's be honest, life is not interested in playing by your rules.  Try to control every variable, and life will gleefully toss you into a rip current to prove otherwise.

Harmony, though—that's a game-changer.  Harmony means flowing with the chaos, adjusting to the circumstances, and finding peace in what is rather than what you think should be. It's like realizing that instead of battling the rip current, you should let it carry you out a bit before finding your way back to shore. Surrender is not defeat. It's strategy.

Meditating in the Storm

You don't need a hurricane to practice this.  (Trust me, I don't recommend it.)  A daily moment of quiet—call it meditation, call it breathing, call it zoning out—is the key. Here's the formula:
1. Sit still.
2. Breathe deeply.
3. Notice what's around you without judgment.
4. If your brain throws a tantrum (it will), let it, then gently redirect it back to your breath.

Start small.  Five minutes.  Maybe three if life feels extra stormy.  Build from there.  Over time, you'll notice that the things that used to make you want to scream are suddenly less potent.  You'll learn to pause, breathe, and maybe even laugh at how ridiculous it all is.

Tickling the Funny Bone in Dark Times

Dark moments often come with a punchline if you're brave enough to look for it.  When I was floating in that muddy muck, meditating on the absurdity of my predicament, I found humor in my relief that my kids weren't there to witness my flailing.  It's not that the danger wasn't real; it was that life's comedy kept me from sinking under the weight of fear.

Laughing doesn't mean you don't take things seriously.  It means you understand the joke—that life's trials, big or small, are temporary, and your resilience is the punchline.

Grace in the Giggle

Anyone can find this balance.  You don't need to be a spiritual guru or a hurricane survivor.  It's as simple as pausing to tickle your funny bone, even when life feels unbearably heavy.  Those quiet moments of gratitude, those bursts of laughter at the absurd, are what keep us afloat.

So, when the storms come—and they will—remember this: stop fighting. Float. Breathe. Say your thanks, even if they're small.  And if you can, giggle at the ridiculousness of it all.  Life may be unpredictable, but humor is the constant that keeps us human.

Tickle you now, my friends. You'll thank yourself later.

I've been accused of impatience more times than I can count,  but I prefer to describe myself as enthusiastic--I am greedy for life! Sitting around, twiddling thumbs, and waiting for the perfect moment, place, or set of conditions to align so I can start something feels like an egregiously wasteful and soul-sucking endeavor.  To me, patience isn't some holy virtue to aspire to—it's a skill you develop only to endure the agonizing consternation of watching the minutes tick their way around the clock.

When people call me impatient, I counter that I get shit done.   Acting on the information I have, I take ownership of the outcomes of my choices.  Could things go sideways?  Sure.  But life's too short to be frozen in analysis paralysis, too fleeting to hinge your happiness on a future that may or may not cooperate with your plans.  Plans are after all, mere blueprints for the things we aspire to transpire; they should be fluid like liquid plastic, primed to take shape as it arrives to its appropriate temperature. 

As we all know but seem to disregard, there's no "perfect" time.  The stars won't magically align in some mystical pattern. The weather won't always cooperate.  You won't always feel ready.  That bucket list trip?  Stop saying you'll take it when work slows down. That hobby you've been dying to pick up?  Quit waiting for a free weekend.  That shiny bauble that would make your heart sing?  Maybe today's the day to open your Wallet (you have never seen a hearse pulling a U-Haul trailer).  Waiting is a human construct, one that paralyzes us with the false promise of someday, when all we truly have is today.  I'm not promoting hastiness, excessiveness, or over-indulgence.   I'm proposing that to squeeze the most out of life, we must cultivate and engage  our situational awareness--let's notice that the present moment is the only time-space we have to consummate our dreams.

But first, here I Must dispense with the word "impatience," as it properly connotes anxiety, unease, even annoyance.   I prefer "eagerness," which is not about recklessness.  It's about seizing the present—the only time we're guaranteed.  I believe waiting is a waste of time unless it's purposeful.  If you're pausing to say grace for what you have, to breathe deeply, to soak in the abundance of the moment—that's worthwhile.  But waiting for conditions to be "right"? That's just fear dressed up in procrastination.

Life is movement, and movement requires time, but to sit still and wait for a sign is to deny the nature of your existence.  Humans are wired to move, to explore, to risk.  Sure, there's a place for pondering and studying and making intentional choices.  But don't confuse thoughtful action with the inertia of waiting.

I've experienced enough things to know there's no perfect time.  I've taken up new interests even when the timing wasn't ideal (hello, left-handed watercolor outlines!), finished a quilt years after I started it, and realized that none of those moments were "perfect." They just were.  And I was there.  And that was enough.

So, what are you waiting for?  Really, what?  The clock is ticking, not in some ominous way, but as a reminder that the only moment you can count on is the one you're in.  Breathe it in.  Feel it.  Then move.  Just move.

There's a recklessness to lust.  A heat.  A fog that clouds the brain, numbs the voice of reason, seductively cooing, "It's on!"  In that moment, nothing matters—at least, nothing beyond the immediate, primal craving for connection, pleasure, validation.  But here's the problem: that moment is fleeting, while its consequences can last a lifetime and feel like unending purgatory.

What starts as a spark of lust can quickly spiral into a must.  Suddenly, you must deal with the fallout—a surprise pregnancy, a health scare, or the emotional wreckage of a forced attachment formed, but that lingers on way past its expiration date.  The cavalier approach to relationships, especially when fueled by the haze of casual sex, leads to irreversible outcomes.  Outcomes that don't just affect you but ripple outward, impacting others in ways you might never have considered.

It's not just lust's fault, though; after all, the urge to merge is powerful, thanks to natural selection and its biological imperative that we reproduce our species.  Immaturity plays its part, too.  The willful ignorance, the shrug of "it'll be fine," the deep-seated longing to be desired, the secret thrill of tempting fate—these are the attitudes that pave the way for disaster.  We tell ourselves it's just fun, just casual, just one night.  But deep down, there's often a sliver of knowing, a quiet acknowledgment that we're flirting with consequences we don't really want to face.

Buddhists have a term for this: karma. Not the pop-culture version where you get instant payback, but the deeper truth of cause and effect.  It's not about punishment but the natural unfolding of actions.  What we do--especially when we act impulsively or carelessly--has consequences, sometimes immediate, sometimes long-lasting.  The care we take (or don't take) in our relationships and decisions sets up the stage for what follows.  

And here's the kicker: the universe doesn't always teach the lesson. There's no guarantee that irresponsible behavior will lead to personal growth.  Sometimes, it just leads to pain—yours, theirs, or both.  The carelessness that feels so exhilarating in the moment can leave you with nothing but rust and dust: the rust of your psyche's inability to keep up with unwanted long-term responsibilities, and as a result, the dust you will become, extinguishing your vitality much sooner than later.

This isn't about fearmongering; it's about recognizing the responsibility that comes with intimacy.  Lust isn't the villain here.  Lust is natural. Lust is human, it's the joining at the hips, the burning of the loins,  etc.  But unmoored desire can be the worst kind of selfishness, the kind that pretends not to see the damage it's about to cause.  Instead of romanticizing recklessness, there should be a recognition of what it is: a refusal to be accountable, an entitlement to fleeting pleasures, an excuse to act like a victim at the hands of a jezebel, all of which lead to Regret; that stained boulevard cobbled with the broken glass of foolhardiness that will repel any promising companion. 

So what's the takeaway? Lust isn't something to shun, but it is something to respect.  It's a powerful force, and with that power comes the need for intentionality.  Acting with care doesn't mean suppressing desire; it means elevating it--ensuring that it aligns with who we are and what we want for our lives; honesty, a lot of care and affection, a path for joy, connection, and meaning.  Now that's some ass worth chasing.

A Love Letter to the Dictionary

Since I was a kid, the dictionary has been my treasure map. Not just a book, but a portal to endless discoveries, its pages gave me a playground where words became toys, puzzles, and poetry. I spent hours flipping through its thin, crinkling leaves, plucking words like curious blossoms, their shapes and sounds as intriguing as their meanings. I would sound them out, rolling them around my tongue like marbles, delighting in their texture, marveling at how some words felt funny, their syllables tumbling out like little acrobats.  Sometimes I would even incorporate a newly found nugget into one of the essays my mom would make me write (as penitence for some immature infraction I committed) and I reveled in the naughty vengeance I felt when her face contorted with chagrin at my snarkiness.

This joy was not confined to definitions alone. Over the years, I started collecting quirky turns of phrase, little linguistic gems from the way people spoke.  I'll never forget the Hungarian tour guide who proudly declared, in his charmingly stilted English, that he enjoyed harvesting compliments from visitors who admired the local architecture. It was a perfect, poetic expression, as though admiration was a crop ripened in the fields of beauty.  Or my favorite university professor, who would observe that  sometimes social scientists confect anthropological theories to explain the Human condition and its quirks.

Words, I've discovered, are living things. They evolve, stretch, and take on new flavors when mixed together, much like an experimental dish that surprises with its odd but satisfying taste. I find joy in tinkering with language, twisting familiar phrases into something novel or using words unconventionally to capture a thought just out of reach. To me, a sentence isn't just a vehicle for information - it's an invitation to incite or arouse an exchange of ideas.

But there's a danger in loving language too much. One time, my enthusiasm for precision earned me the unpleasant moniker of semantic pedantic. I had overstepped, correcting someone's misuse of a word in a way that left the conversation flat and me feeling more smug than smart. The sting of that moment taught me an important lesson: words should connect, not alienate. I vowed to use my love of language not to lecture but to delight--to craft sentences as clear and concise as they are flavorful.  Like a well-prepared dish, a good sentence should nourish the mind and bring a smile to the face.  For years I have brought this perspective to my college students, gently coaxing them to explore that nerdy book called the dictionary, with me and challenging them to give up their reindeer games for at least a little while. The cotton candy that is social media is rotting away their wonderful minds, but I press on with my "big words" because I have witnessed many of these bright learners weave some lofty language units into casual conversations with deftness and sometimes even with panache. 

The dictionary and its trusty companion, the thesaurus, remain my steadfast allies in this mission. They are treasure troves of possibility,  their entries like jewels that can transform ordinary thoughts into extraordinary expressions. They are not relics of the past but dynamic tools for the present and future, enabling us to say what we mean and mean what we say with precision, beauty, and a touch of whimsy.

For me, the dictionary isn't just a reference - it's a reminder of the infinite ways we can shape and share our thoughts. It's a celebration of the power of language to connect, to entertain, and to inspire. Every word is an invitation, every phrase an adventure, and every sentence a chance to say,  Come along - let's see where this takes us.

Sermon on the Mound: Lessons in Life and Leadership from the Pitcher's Perspective

Standing tall on the pitcher's mound, a baseball pitcher commands attention. All eyes—teammates, opponents, and fans alike—are glued to their every move. The pitcher isn't just a player; they're a leader, a strategist, and sometimes, a prophet of the game. Like a preacher delivering a sermon, they guide their team toward success by reading the situation, adapting their approach, and delivering their message with precision.

In the same way, life often calls us to step onto our own "mounds." Whether we're in a boardroom, a classroom, or a family gathering, we find ourselves tasked with influencing others, guiding them toward better decisions, or simply offering support. But how we approach these moments—our "sermons"—makes all the difference.

Here's how a pitcher can teach us the art of skillful living.

1. Reading the Room (or the Batter's Stance)

A great pitcher doesn't throw blindly. They study the batter—where they stand, how they grip the bat, and even the faintest twitch of a shoulder. Similarly, skillful living requires that we "read the room." What's the mood? Are people ready to engage, or do they need some encouragement?

Like a prophet whose wisdom resonates because it meets the needs of the listener, our impact depends on our awareness. When we pause to notice the dynamics around us, our words and actions find fertile ground. Too much seriousness? Toss in some light-hearted humor. Too much tension? Ease the room with empathy. Adjust your pitch, so to speak, and you'll find your message hits home.

2. Avoiding the Dry and Academic Curveball

Imagine a pitcher who only throws curveballs—technical, tricky, and hard to follow. Sure, they're impressive, but if overused, they lose their edge. The same applies to our words. Overly academic language or dry instructions can leave our "audience"—friends, colleagues, or kids—tuning out faster than a batter ducking a wild pitch.

Instead, aim for playful, accessible communication. Drop the jargon and speak plainly. Be the pitcher who surprises everyone with a well-timed fastball—sharp, clear, and to the point. Or throw a knuckleball of humor—unexpected, but impossible to resist. Life is complicated enough; let's make our messages simple and enjoyable.

3. Leading Without Preaching

The mound is a place of authority, but it's also a place of humility. A pitcher knows they're only as good as their team. They don't lord their position over others; they work with catchers, fielders, and coaches to succeed.

The same is true for those of us who find ourselves offering guidance. Preaching at people—sounding self-righteous or overly authoritative—is the quickest way to alienate them. Instead, embody your wisdom through action. Share stories of your own struggles and mistakes. Be relatable, not untouchable. A prophet gains followers not by shouting from the mountaintop, but by walking among the people.

4. Keeping It Light and Playful

Baseball, at its heart, is a game—a mix of competition and joy. Even the best pitchers know how to stay loose, cracking a smile after a bad inning or tipping their cap to a batter who hit a home run. Life's mound moments don't have to feel heavy.

When we approach life with a spirit of playfulness, we create space for others to join us. Think of a pitcher's grin after throwing a surprise strike. That's the energy we need—an invitation to laugh, learn, and grow together. Sometimes, the best sermons are less about fire and brimstone and more about a warm chuckle.

Life is full of mound moments. Whether we're pitching ideas, advice, or just our presence, how we deliver them shapes how they're received. Like the pitcher on the mound, we're at our best when we:

--Read the room with care
--Communicate simply and playfully
--Lead without preaching
--Keep it light when possible

The next time you're called to share your wisdom or guide someone, remember the lessons from the mound. Approach with humility, throw your best pitch, and trust that, whether it's a strike or a ball, you're playing the game with skillful living.

And who knows? Maybe your sermon on the mound will be the one they remember for years to come.

Life, like the ocean, is a master of rhythm. It flows, it ebbs, it crashes against us when we least expect it.  And happiness?  It rides those waves, coming and going, leaving traces of salt and sun on our souls.  While we may long to anchor ourselves in constant joy, the truth is that the fleeting nature of happiness is what makes it so precious.

Happiness comes in waves, but isn't that the point?  A still sea may look serene, but it lacks the movement that shapes and strengthens us.  Each crest of joy lifts us up, gives us a glimpse of the horizon, and reminds us of life's strange And sometimes terrible beauty.  But when the tide retreats, leaving us standing on damp sand, that's when the lessons roll in like seashells at our feet.

The key is to savor every splash.  When life washes you with joy—whether it's a spontaneous laugh with a friend or the quiet satisfaction of a finished quilt—let it soak into your skin.  These moments are as fleeting as footprints in the sand, destined to fade but leaving an imprint on our hearts.

And when the waves of happiness recede, it's okay to feel a little adrift.  Remember, even the lowest tide reveals treasures: pearls of wisdom, resilience polished like sea glass, and a deeper understanding of what matters most.  The troughs of life prepare us to appreciate the peaks, teaching us that no storm is endless, no calm is forever, and no wave lasts unchanged.

As with all things, happiness must come to its natural conclusion.  This isn't a flaw of life—it's the art of it. The fleetingness of joy reminds us to live fully in the present, to embrace the highs without clinging too tightly, and to let the lows wash over us with grace.

So, next time happiness swells like a perfect wave, ride it with abandon.  Throw your arms wide, feel the spray on your face, and shout into the wind. And when the waters calm again, remember: the sea is never truly still. Another wave is forming, just beyond the horizon.

Life is a tide, not a trap.  The waves will come and go, but as long as you stay open to the experience, you'll find the beauty in every ebb and flow.

After all, isn't it the waves that shape the shore?