Leave The Light On

Reverence

A deep, tender respect and awe for something sacred.

To revere someone is not just to love them—it’s to truly see them, soulfully. It’s honoring their essence, not just their actions.

The word has been floating around my mind all day—along with me, drifting on the open sea during my first cruise. There’s nothing but water, and the rare gift of stillness to actually listen.

My cruise book is The Alchemist—a story I’ve been wanting to read for years. I never told anyone that, but my sister just happened to bring it.

In life, I’ve sometimes let myself struggle (what a crime, right?)—and when I do, hardship becomes a badge.

A while back, a girl told me I could build a sword from goodness. That I could pick it up and fight life back. But I didn’t want it. I didn’t want to be armed, or angry. I didn’t want to protect myself from the bad things that made me good.

Somewhere along the way, I’d started to equate deep love with deep pain. And the darkness I carried made me feel almost… superhuman. I thought my softness through pain made me special—maybe even admired.

But today, something clicked. I don’t need a sword.

Instead, I need a lighthouse.

For too long, I moved through the world feeling above what happened to me, as if chaos was random and I was just an unlucky passenger.

There’s truth to the saying, What’s meant for you will always find you. But here’s the extension: anything that arrives—good or bad, however briefly—may be asking to be witnessed. If something finds me, perhaps it’s mine to learn from before letting it go.

Life isn’t about solving everything. But it is about being willing to change.

When we’re stuck in timelines that no longer fit—draining relationships, old behaviors, environments that quietly shrink us—our instinct is to detach. To spiritually exit stage left. To say, This doesn’t define me, while continuing to live as if it does.

But our soul can’t move forward if we don’t.

By refusing to shift, we anchor ourselves in the very frequency we want to leave. We wait for others to heal, for timing to feel right. But we're the ones who have to move.

We’re not just witnesses to change. We are our own alchemists.

We always have the choice. To start the new timeline. To soften. To shift our energy, raise our frequency, and let that ripple outward.

This might be what it means to love without trying to fix—choosing a better version of ourselves even when others aren't ready. Especially when they're not ready.

I haven’t even finished the book yet, but somehow... I remember it. I remember something I’ve never read.

In the same manner, I remember the truest versions of people I haven’t even known a whole lifetime. I see them—the whole, healed versions of themselves that already exist in some way, somewhere.

I'm learning to hold them there in my heart, no matter where they are in their journey.

I'm not here to fight circumstances or punish my younger self for not knowing better. I'm not here to blame the universe for hard things.

I’m here to revere. To remember my truest essence—and, in doing so, inspire others to reclaim the divine in themselves.

No sword needed. Just a lighthouse.

A lighthouse that transforms darkness simply by being seen.

I’ll get back to reading now. :)