Choosing the Deep Devotion to the Present.

Choosing the Deep Devotion to the Present.

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In 2013, life shifted. My father passed suddenly, and my mother - once strong and steady - began to waver between needing support and fiercely resisting it. The ground beneath us changed,

and so did the rhythm of our relationships.

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A few years later, my sister faced a major life challenge. We thought we had moved through it by 2016, and for a while, we allowed ourselves to breathe. But the dynamic at home only grew more complex. My mother’s pull between dependence and independence became a constant undertone - I need you, I love you, I don’t trust you, don’t come too close.

That was our life for years - messy, raw, loving, hard.

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In 2019, a new challenge came for my sister, one that had echoes of the past.

We still believed things would get better. We found laughter. We made memories.

My son got married. Life gave us moments of joy right in the midst of it all.

And through it, we stayed close. She was never alone - I made sure of that.

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In 2020, I experienced my own health scare. I didn’t understand why it happened, and thankfully,

I recovered fully. But it woke something in me. I kept showing up for everyone.

I kept holding the pieces. Even as the day stretched longer and heavier.

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Eventually, my sister’s journey came to a close in mid-2021. We were with her through every step.

It was sacred. It was brutal. And it was filled with the kind of love that carves your heart wide open.

 

Grief, I learned, isn’t just something you feel. It’s something you carry.

Do you carry grief? Are you longing for emotional stability?

This is the inside job.

 

In the months that followed, I turned to something I’d always wanted to do: write a screenplay.

It became a way to process, to honor, to create. The story - based on the relationship with my sister - eventually turned into a film. Sister was born in collaboration with a beautiful team and

went on to be celebrated in festivals across the U.S. and Europe.

 

But more importantly, it gave me back to myself.

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In 2024, I stepped into rooms filled with artists, producers, and creators - and I remembered what it felt like to be alive. To feel awe again. To feel inspired. That year became the beginning of what I now call living in joy. Not in denial of pain - but in deep devotion to the present.

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The grief. The loss. The pressure. It adds up. Even when you’re doing “all the right things.”

And slowly, I realized something:

 

The light we’re looking for isn’t waiting for us in the future.

It’s built through presence, through creation, through choice.

 

So now, I’m sharing. Not as a teacher. Just as someone who’s lived it.

What helped me. What brought me back.

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Rituals. Reflections. The small, powerful acts of remembering joy and being in joy.

Not because everything is perfect.

Because joy is possible.

 

This is my invitation:

To live in joy. To be in the moment.

To soften. To open.

To return home to yourself.