Begin Again

This past Wednesday, in a deck of maybe 50 cards, I pulled this one. The one that says Begin Again. —

On the eve of my 34th birthday, I wrote a depressing diary/journal entry, whatever you want to call it.  It felt like the most raw thing I'd ever written, and I felt too vulnerable to share it, but I kept it in my drafts.  I kept it because I had hope that in the near future, I would be able to come back, read it, and not recognize the person who wrote it. A few weeks later, 2025 arrived, and I can’t say I felt much better, although not without trying. I tried so, so hard in January.  In March, I wrote a revised edition of how I was [still] feeling.  Down, depressed, hopeless, and in search of my "sparkle".  It raised red flags (for what it’s worth, I was never suicidal), but for the sake of vulnerability that I’ve always promised with this blog, I wanted to share how I was genuinely feeling.  Again, with hopes that someday I could reflect back and feel pride that I pulled myself out of the hole I was in.  That I got back up. That I got my "sparkle" back. It certainly didn’t happen overnight. It took months and is still taking time.  And at the risk of this sounding like a clickbait, “How to Pull Yourself Out of A Funk!” article, I’ll say that in the seventh month of this year, I’m finally starting to feel like myself again, and feel like I’m getting my "Sparkle" back. — In conversations lately, people have jokingly asked me, “What are you running from?”

It’s not what I’m running from. It’s what I’m running to.   And I don’t mean a finish line — there are no finish lines.

What I’m running to?

To feel.

To inspire.

To remember. To process.

To celebrate. To know. To grieve.

To hurt. To persevere.

There are no finish lines.  Only starting lines where I am fortunate enough to get to start over again, and somehow, always meet a better version of myself than before. The beauty of running is that you can start over as many times as you need. You can Begin Again.