I can sit for hours, simply watching the tide—how it moves in, how it moves out. The rhythm of it. The patience of it. The quiet understanding that not everything needs to be rushed. 

And over time, that idea became more than a metaphor. It became a way of being. A quiet knowing that even if the branch beneath me were to break, I would not fall—because I have wings… 

I often think about how much of my journey exists because someone before me refused to give up. Someone dared to imagine more. Someone believed that the world could be different.

And while that love is beautiful and meaningful, I’ve come to understand that the most important love we can cultivate is the love we give ourselves.