I sit quietly. The room has enough people to host a Christmas party, I soak the people in. Not one person looks the same. Different style, facial expressions, age, hair, all of them different. Some have injuries, some half asleep and others working on a mission. I hear a mom as she tries to coordinate her busy schedule, she seems stressed. I see a couple in their 70’s both reading a book, I see an injured man, a couple arguing and many more people. All I can think of as I sit there myself emotionally and physically tired from all the responsibilities this single mom has, I think, “Who helps these people when they go home?” Do they sink in their own hole too? Do they have time to breathe? Is that an odd question? Why are they stressed? Why are they hurting? Am I the only one that wants to know all the things? What troubles or triumphs have they had? Can any of them share wisdom with me?

My brain ignites with people around, obviously with a lot of questions. I’ve often heard, “Always ask your elders for the secret to life, they have lived it.” And believe me, I do! I have received a world of wisdom. I have asked many elders, “What’s the secret to a long lasting marriage?” (prior to my marriage) I have heard, communication, patience, compromise and forgiveness the most. Sounds about right! I’m not sure why I think about all those questions, but I do. Every chance I get, I will continue to ask people wiser than me the questions to life. Maybe I’ll pass GO and collect $200, and actually win the game, the game of life. But there is no game. Each day is gone and never repeated. Everyday I want to be new, I am given grace every morning and therefore I accept it. Some days I don’t make it passed noon. My mood is a mess, my stress is leading and my attitude stinks, simply human. But I have a goal to always go the next step. I am obsessed with getting “better,” better than I my yesterday. I don’t want to shame myself for the depression days, for the days I sink into my cave, for the days I wish to be taken away. Those days are shameful enough in those moments. The story telling alone is too vulnerable. Releasing the shame for days my anxiety keeps my feet tapping longer and louder than they need to be. The days my mind races with unnecessary thoughts. I never wish to shame myself, but days happen and I renew the next day and start again. Over and over I hit renew. I build myself again. I breathe, and believe in one more day.