From black hole to shining star

On June 11th at 11:11 a.m., a stranger messaged me. The universe must have known that, on June 12th, I would have a meltdown, and the one who would help me rise again was the person whose name had just popped up on my phone.

For the first six months of this year, I would wake up every morning wishing I didn’t exist. January 1st brought devastating news that shook my family, and I ended up seeking solace from a situation that had already shattered my confidence for far too long. On top of that, I was juggling two jobs and trying to be an entrepreneur yet somehow, my finances never seemed stable.

As winter crept towards spring, I sank deeper into darkness. Anxiety filled my chest and at an alarming pace, PTSD-symptoms such as panic attacks, flashbacks and nightmares returned to my life. Still, I kept thinking: “If I can just make it for one more day, one more week, one more month, then everything will be alright.” I kept practicing gratitude and feverishly repeated affirmations, but nothing worked.

Then came June 12th, and everything crashed. My spirit was broken, and I knew that something had to change. Fortunately, the summer holidays were just around the corner so I escaped to Madeira, where I hiked to the highest mountain and slowly started picking up the pieces. As the fog of past events lifted, the stranger who had messaged me earlier came into focus.

By now, I knew that his name was Luke and that he lived in Australia. I knew he liked the colour green and shared my passion for hiking. I also learned that he had gone through past struggles not unlike my own. We had a clarity call to see if his coaching would be right for me and despite my initial hesitation, I was struck by his genuine compassion.

I asked the universe for a sign, and for the rest of my holidays, the name Luke rained over me. In every book I read and every movie I watched, there was a character named Luke. If I listened to a podcast, there was a guest named Luke. If I discovered a new song, it would be sung by an artist called Luke (or Luca). I even saw his name written on a lamp post! The message was loud and clear.

Once I returned home, Luke offered me another clarity call and the next day, I sent him all the money I had at the time. My friends were skeptical. “What if he hypnotises you and then switches off the computer and you stay hypnotised forever?” one of them worried. “Don’t give him any information!” another one advised.

But I knew that if this was going to work, I would have to trust Luke completely. I would have to be brave, and vulnerable. My decision was not based on reviews or referrals, or even logic (in hindsight, I could have done more research). It was pure intuition. I was fully committed, ready and desperate to change my life.

And so Luke and I embarked on a 6-week quantum transformation journey, including timeline therapy and reprogramming of the subconscious mind, delving into traumas and underlying blocks. One by one, we cleared out negative emotions such as anger, sadness, fear, hurt and guilt, and rewired my nervous system for positive emotions. We removed negative beliefs and installed new empowered beliefs.

The rapid changes were astonishing, and newfound joy fuelled my motivation. Luke sent me six digital courses to work on in between our sessions and after just a few weeks, I had gone through them all, surprised to discover that I had become extremely interested in neuroscience. Engrossed, I devoured any information I could find and filled notebook after notebook.

About halfway through, I unexpectedly fell back into the black hole that I thought I had expanded from. Only this time, I managed to crawl out of it myself and found that I could stand firmly on my own two feet. That’s when I knew that something fundamental had shifted.

The coaching program was not an easy process for me. There were days when I didn’t show up as my best self and there were days when I wanted to quit because there were past events that I didn’t dare to revisit. There were times when I felt embarrassed, and there were times when I felt lost in between sessions. There were, however, more moments when I felt truly connected, and I experienced profound love and happiness. No matter what, I kept going, knowing Luke would always be there to support me.

Step by step, my spirit began to heal. These days, I wake up excited to do yoga and see what else the day brings. I haven’t had a panic attack in months, and my sleep is no longer interrupted by nightmares. I can breathe more easily, and for the first time in my life, I feel safe and at home in my body. My confidence has improved and I feel more comfortable being myself. I worry less about what other people think and focus more on creating my own path.

I have learned how to set boundaries, proving that I can stand up for myself and make the right decisions. I now understand that it is not my job to protect others from facing the consequences of their own actions. I have found a strength inside myself that I never knew I had.

I have gone from feeling burned out at work to showing up each day full of energy. I feel a lot more comfortable in my teacher role, whether it’s teaching languages, dance or yoga. In January, all my yoga courses were canceled, but when I offered them again in August, they sold out within an hour!

Two years ago, I published my first book, which was followed by imposter syndrome and writer’s block. Now, I’m writing every day again, which feels fantastic. I have set new goals for the future and I’m excitedly taking steps towards them. My motto is “I’m happy in the present moment, and I allow good things to come to me.”

At 42, I feel like life is just beginning. This experience has inspired me so much that I have even decided to study hypnotherapy for a year. Perhaps helping others is the best way to thank the no-longer stranger who popped into my life and changed everything for the better.

Between heaven and earth, the ocean and the sky

Flower island, pearl of the Atlantic, the Hawaii of Europe... the volcanic island of Madeira goes by many names, and this is what drew me to venture here for a week at the beginning of July. While usually offering a mild climate all year round, Madeira's weather can be unpredictable. "You will get rained on," my guide book said and sure enough, as the plane descended, the raindrops danced on the windows.

Madeira's allure, however, extends far beyond idyllic sunbathing and leisurely swims. In fact, most of the beaches here are made of pebbles so if you're looking for sandy stretches, you may want to head to the nearby island of Porto Santo, where sand has been imported from the Sahara desert. Not a typical beach enthusiast, I had instead planned a holiday filled with activities, from climbing volcanoes and swimming in secluded lagoons to diving with dolphins and learning how to surf.

My main goal was to conquer Pico Ruivo, the highest peak in Madeira at 1,861 meters above sea level. Two days after my arrival on the island, a guide picked me up at 5 a.m. and we drove up the mountains to witness a breathtaking sunrise above the clouds. From Pico do Arieiro, our starting point, we hiked along steep trails to reach the top. Not used to the altitude and the heat, I ran out of steam fairly quickly. Nevertheless, I persisted, putting one foot in front of the other, ascending what is often referred to as "the stairway to heaven."

While the stunning scenery was certainly rewarding, it wasn't enough motivation for me. To persevere with heatstroke and aching joints, I had to tap into my inner strength, my Finnish "sisu." What also helped was seeing butterflies gracefully flutter around me throughout the hike. These insects bring so much colour, lightness and joy. As symbols of powerful transformation, they also remind us to welcome change without trying to control the outcome. At the end of our journey, we will inevitably emerge different than when we started. 

Unaware of how challenging the hike would be, I had booked a surfing lesson for the next morning. So after only a few hours of sleep, I headed towards Machico beach to meet Roberto, the surf instructor. We began with dry land practice, honing our technique before plunging into the water. "Only one thing is certain," Roberto said. "You will fall." And fall I did, over and over again. But each time, I crawled back up on the surfboard and paddled out to wait patiently for the next wave to arrive. Eventually, I started to make progress and managed to stand up for shorter moments. 

"Believe in yourself!" Roberto shouted as he gave my surfboard a push. "This wave has been waiting its whole life for you to ride it. The only thing worse than falling would be not trying." Encouraged by his words, I gave it my all and in doing so, wholeheartedly fell in love with the practice of surfing and everything that it entails. It may have been my first lesson, but it will definitely not be my last. I can't wait to return to the ocean, catch more waves and immerse myself in the joy of surfing.

Staying in our comfort zone is not how we learn. Hence, for my next day of adventure, I impulsively booked a tour with Joao, a guide known for his spontaneous approach. "I never make plans," he texted me beforehand, "so you should be prepared for anything." He picked me up at 7 a.m. and off we went, driving along the winding roads of Madeira. A native of the island, Joao brought me to mesmerising waterfalls, hidden away from the crowds. We swam in the crater of a dormant volcano, walked along the ancient levadas (irrigation channels), hiked up a mountain and all in all, had an enchanting day. Twelve hours later, I arrived back at my apartment, utterly exhausted but deeply content with a sense of fulfilment in my soul. 

As a final adventure, I signed up for a dolphin and whale watching tour with seven fellow travellers. Early morning found us huddled together on a tiny speedboat, ready to embark on our ocean quest. "Look for birds," our guide Natascha advised us. "Where there are birds, there will be fish and where there is prey, there will be predators." Far away from the shore, a flock of birds started circling our boat and soon after, dolphins were jumping all around us. What a delight! One by one, we were instructed to slowly and silently glide into the water, clinging to a rope attached to the boat and breathing through a snorkel. 

I waited my whole life to swim with dolphins in the ocean, and the initial moments of my experience were absolutely incredible. Then, the dizziness hit me like a ton of bricks in the head, leaving me gasping for air. I tried gesturing to the people on the boat, but no one noticed as they were all too mesmerised by the ballet of sea creatures. Panicking, I hit the side of the boat and Natascha finally pulled my shaking body out of the water. "You have vertigo," she said gently. "Sometimes the depth can trigger it. Give it another try and I'll stay close to you this time." With her reassurance, I put on the goggles, grabbed the rope, slid back into the water and swam behind the dolphins while Natascha held onto my wrist. "I'm so proud of you," she whispered, beaming as she helped me climb back onto the boat. 

A mixture of pride and relief washed over me. I felt dizzy and nauseous for the rest of the day, but seeing the beauties of the ocean was definitely worth it. 

On this trip, I came to a profound realisation - embarking on adventures is as essential for me as breathing. I may not know what the road ahead looks like, nor am I sure of my destination, but I'm willing to embrace the uncertainty and take chances. The path is never linear, nor is it ever entirely smooth. There will be moments of rain, and there will be times when I stumble and fall. But I never feel more alive than on top of a mountain or far out in the ocean. These experiences serve as a reminder of how insignificantly small we may seem, and yet how remarkable and interconnected we are. In the words of 13th-century poet Rumi: "we are not mere drops in the ocean, but the entire ocean in one drop."

Passport Full of Dreams - A travel journal turned into a survival story

It's finally here!

I have put my whole heart into writing this book and I hope that it will bring my readers joy (along with a few tears) and perhaps encourage more people to share their own story. 

My self-help memoir is about traveling, adventure and yoga, falling in love, falling apart, falling down and rising back up.

It would mean the absolute world to me if you wanted to read the book. Part of the royalties will be donated to organisations that support mental health and/or education for young people in Ecuador. 

Please leave a comment or reach out me through social media if you would like to buy a copy.

 

Passport Full of Dreams - A travel journal turned into a story of survival

May you go further than the stars

It was always my dream to do the pilgrim walk to Santiago de Compostela so, when the leaders of my hiking group sent out an invitation to walk the last part of the Camiño de Santiago Portugués, I immediately accepted. There was no time to prepare, but after years of dreaming, I was more than ready for this challenge.

The adventure began with a twelve-hour car ride from southern Andalusia to Tui in northern Spain, our starting point close to the Portuguese border. Twelve hours in a van with a group of Sevillanos, all of us wearing our face masks of course. Spaniards are known to speak faster than bullets leave machine guns and the decibel of their speech has been recorded as one of the highest in the world, which may be why life in Spain often reminds me of a book title by Jonathan Safran Foer: Extremely loud and incredibly close. 

Only when we arrived at our first hostel did one of the women that I was sharing a room with say to the other: "Turn down the volume, please - we're in Galicia now."

Our first hostel had a pool,
which was heaven after a long day of hiking

Start of the Camino

Our first encounter was with a Gypsy woman wailing on the side of the road as we drove through a small Portuguese town. We didn't speak her language so the villagers explained that today was the day of her husband's funeral, he had committed suicide a week earlier and left her here on their doorstep with his pain. I tried to look into her eyes but she saw nothing and heard no one; even surrounded by people eager to console, she was alone with her grief and somehow, she will have to move on and find a new normal. 

On our first day of walking, I started thinking about what I need to be happy, and I came to the conclusion that I really don't need much. I certainly don't need many material things - of all the clothes I brought for the Camino, I could have done just as well with half. The lighter the backpack, the easier the walk.

Along the path, there are many messages and signs and one that you will see everywhere is the Latin word Ultreia, which means "May you go further than the stars." Amongst poetry painted on walls and hearts carved into trees, we came across a yellow and blue pair of shoes with a sign saying: "Yo hago Camino, NO maratón - I'm doing the walk, NOT a marathon." The path is the destination, hence there is no need to run towards the finish line. There should always be enough time to take a break, enjoy the surroundings, gaze at the goats, swim in the waterfalls, and watch the stars at night.

After a few days, I felt comfortable enough to let go of the need to engage in conversation all the time. Sometimes, I would walk by myself, other times in silence with someone next to me. Occasionally, an interesting topic would come up and we would walk and talk until we were out of breath. However, I also learned the skill of tuning out from the incessant chatter around me and tuning in to the sounds of nature instead. Whenever my mind would wander too far off the path, something would happen to bring my attention back, like when we were drawn into the forest by the enchanting music coming from two bagpipers standing behind a stone cross.

 

One of my biggest challenges was being hungry most of the time. On the second day, I only ate a small salad, which led to feeling weak and unmotivated on the third day. The hostels we stayed at served a good breakfast and during the walk, I would munch on dried fruit and nuts, but as much as we were moving, it wasn't enough. I hadn't realized that finding gluten-free vegan food would be so complicated in Galicia, or else perhaps I would have prepared differently.

On the other hand, there were other things that I had unnecessarily worried about before the trip, such as getting lost. The Camino is very well marked, all you have to do is follow the signs. Not having the right clothes was also a concern, just like blisters, sore legs, or a possible arthritis flare-up, none of which happened even though I didn't even have proper hiking shoes. I did the whole walk in my Nike trainers and it was absolutely fine.

Obviously, we considered the risks of Covid-19, but we mostly stayed within our group, wearing face cover and maintaining distance. I feel much safer up in the mountains than out on the streets anyway. Sunburn and fatigue are also valid issues to keep in mind and there were definitely moments, even days when I didn't want to put one foot in front of the other anymore. To keep going, I would think of something a Finnish war veteran said when he visited my school long ago: "You'll be surprised at how far you can walk after you think you can't walk anymore."

In total, we walked 120 kilometers in six days. In order to get the official stamp and certificate, you need to walk at least 100 kilometers but, certificate in hand, I can assure you that this is not what the Camino is about. What matters more is reflecting, pushing your limits, finding something beautiful inside yourself, and learning from the people that you meet along the way. 

They say that on the Camino, you will never walk alone. I experienced this through God's powerful presence, as churches and crosses are everywhere, but we also crossed paths with some interesting characters, for example, an elderly woman in a green bikini and a golden cross, who was feeding a goose on the beach. She told us that the bird's name was Chris, he's about six years old and she loves him more than her dog.

At a café by the side of the road, we met a man in his 80s with three golden crosses around his neck, selling charms in the shape of cats and shells. "Why does one have to die at 100?" he asked. "Can't they create one of those app things to make us live until 120?" His eyes sparkled as he made us laugh and buy more of his jewelry.  

There was also a woman in her forties walking the Camino on her own and we immediately bonded as it turned out that she was a language teacher like me and about to start a yoga teacher training, too. Then there was a wrinkly Portuguese man with a feathered cane walking in the opposite direction as well as two Australian dudes slowly limping and smoking their way forward on the path. 

On the last day, I walked mostly on my own until another group of Sevillanos caught up with me at a crossroads where I had stopped, unsure of which way to choose. "Are you afraid of us?" they laughed behind their masks, nudging me with their elbows and using silly voices to ask me for a picture. A group of guys in their thirties, they were convinced it doesn't matter whether you go left or right so I followed them to the left. We chatted as we entered the city of Santiago de Compostela together and they asked me about my ambitions in life. 

Reaching the cathedral is one ambition that I have now completed. As I stood there looking up, surrounded by new friends, I thought of all the other pilgrims who have come before me, and those who have yet to arrive. I thought of how one adventure is really just the beginning of another, and how many of us choose different paths in life or advance at a different speed than others, yet eventually, we reach the same destination. After all, as spiritual teacher Ram Dass observed: "We are all just walking each other home."

In front of the Cathedral in Santiago de Compostela

Waves of change

"Ellie, deja que la vida fluye," my Ecuadorian friend W always says to me. Let life flow. I agree with him but as we all know, it's not so easy to let go of control. Before I left my home in Quito, I wrote a post about feeling like I was drowning and a friend that I met in Thailand many years ago commented: "You will float, you will float, you will float". She wasn't wrong and her comment became my mantra whenever I felt myself sinking again, but I don't think she or anyone else could have imagined that it would take two whole years before I would once again trust the ocean enough to stop treading water and just... float. 

It wasn't until I actually went out into the real ocean a couple of weeks ago that I realized I've finally let go of the fight. I have stopped resisting the natural flow of things.

I was on a tour with a group of hikers and setting off in the beautiful hippie paradise called Caños de Meca, we hiked towards the coastal town of Barbate, stopping several times along the way to cool down with a dip in the ocean. Towards the end of our hike, I walked out into the water alone, distancing myself from the group. Out in the deep blue sea, I stretched out my arms and my legs to float on the waves, something I literally hadn't done for years. I have mostly gone to Finland in the winter and last summer, my only contact with water was freezing my toes off in the Atlantic ocean outside Portugal. The beaches in Ecuador are outstanding but there, the waves were too big to swim.

As I was floating around in the crystal blue water, I noticed that all the spaces in my body that used to be filled with something or someone now somehow seemed hollow. I also felt small, in a good way. We are but tiny drops in a vast ocean of uncertainty, but if we move with the waves of change, we may eventually end up where we are supposed to be. 

Due to the Covid-19 situation around the world, I am currently without a job and need to leave my apartment at the end of this month, without knowing where to go or what to do next. That's the thing about floating - it's basically drifting around with no destination.

What I take with me from Seville is a strong sense of community. I have always found support here, whether it's been in the form of friends, fellow hikers, yogis, colleagues, roommates, partners, or my church family. I have reached out for help and equally so, I have been the one to hold out a hand when someone needed me. For my first yoga class, I created a new mantra for myself and my students: I am safe. I am supported. I am loved. 

At the moment, I feel like circles are closing. I recently bought my last monthly pass at the yoga studio that has been like a second home to me for a year. Two months in Seville turned into twelve as I decided to stay and complete a yoga teacher training here and I have no regrets. Never have I dedicated so much effort into something that turned out to be equally rewarding. During the course, I came to understand that the true essence of yoga has very little to do with asanas; it is more about connecting to the breath, finding balance and recognizing the truth within ourselves. I learned how to awaken my senses, surrender to what is, and perhaps most importantly, to experience joy again. 

Even though there are some things, and some people, that I will probably never be able to let go of, I do feel like I have dropped some heavyweights and let them sink to the bottom. I no longer cling to anything or anyone, instead, I try to let things be and go with the flow. I now understand that acting often comes from a place of kindness whereas reacting is based on hurt. Using our breath to center ourselves can help us make a conscious choice between the two. 

If I wanted to label my experiences over the past three years, I could call them illness, shock, betrayal, anxiety, depression, distorted reality, grief, loss, posttraumatic stress... or I could turn things around and name them lessons in love, vulnerability and fear, overcoming, building courage, improving my health, healing and moving on.

The real question is, what happens if we drop all the labels? What remains? 

Maybe the best all of us can do this year is just to keep our heads above water. If we can remain above the surface and keep breathing, I think that is enough.

New beginnings

It is the start of a new decade and I have really enjoyed my friends' social media posts comparing their pictures from ten years ago to what their life looks like today. 

Yet I haven't felt any need to reciprocate. 

I don’t want to look back, nor do I want to look forward. I only want to be here and now. I don’t remember where I was a decade ago and it no longer matters. I know exactly where I was two years ago, however, and that is enough. I was in the hospital. In pain. Feeling terrified. And I also know where I am now. On a train. Moving forward. Feeling safe(r). I have come a long way.

As I watch the snow-covered landscape go by, I think of what my Spanish friends asked me before I left Seville to go home for the holidays: "Vas a tu tierra? Are you going back to your land, the earth that you came from?" 

Snow yoga

Yes. This is where I grew up, in this freezing country in the north. Where the winters are long and dark, and the summers are warm and bright. The country of the northern lights and the midnight sun. Where the moods change with the seasons and people show love through actions, not words. Where women can be presidents, prime ministers, and pastors. Where there is no reason to fear the wind because the roots are strong and there is freedom to fly.

"Where are you going now?" My friends in Finland want to know in which direction I'm headed. "I don’t know," I respond honestly with a shrug. I believe that as I continue to move forward, the path will reveal itself. My New Years' resolution is simply to be here and now. Aquí, ahora. 

The only goal I have for this year is to finish the yoga teacher training that I started in October and that will keep me in Seville at least until the end of June. So far, every idea or expectation that I had of the course beforehand has turned out to be wrong, yet I'm loving every minute of it. It is giving me what I need, not what I thought I wanted and even though it seems to be changing something deep within, I can feel that it is also grounding me and bringing me back to myself. 

"This course found you," my yoga teacher said and I think she’s right. Her comment made me think of how many years I have spent searching without even knowing what I am looking for. After my great adventures in South America, I was so lost that I had to spend a year in hiding just to recover. 2020, therefore, seems like a good time to step back out into the light and let more things and people find me.

If 2018 was the year I nearly drowned then 2019 was the year I learned to stay afloat. 2020 might be the year I finally learn how to ride the waves. How to dive right in and deal with the highs and the lows. How to observe the ebbs and the flows and appreciate the beauty in every season. 

20 + 20 = 40. This is my last year as a thirty-something. The only name left on the list of places I want to see before I turn forty is Machu Pichu in Peru. I have exactly one year and one month to save up and start the journey so I might make it, but even if I don’t, it will be okay. As seasons change, so do dreams and wishes. 

A new decade. A new season. A new circle begins. It reminds me of what the French say when they haven’t seen someone in a long time: "Qu’est-ce que tu deviens?" It is a way of asking how someone is, what is new in their life and what they have been doing lately but it literally means “What are you becoming?” I like it. Not where have you been nor where are you going. Just here and now: What are you becoming? 

Sunset in Vaasa, Finland

Reasons to stay alive

It was a Tuesday night in October last year. I was working late as usual and it was just me and another teacher in the staffroom at our academic center in the North of Madrid. This tall handsome stranger and I had been introduced at the beginning of the school year but we hadn’t really talked since then. We were both tapping away at our computers when he started a conversation. "Do you like reading?" he asked from behind his screen and I looked up. I looked at him, then looked away.

I didn’t know how to say that yes, I used to love books but now the mere thought of reading one was so exhausting that I couldn’t even bring myself to try. Finishing a book seemed like an impossible task to accomplish and I didn’t want to add to my never-ending list of failures. I didn’t know how to explain that when you’re overwhelmed by anxiety, reading two sentences after another is already a major undertaking. It's like reading a text with no punctuation - it makes absolutely no sense. 

"I like writing." My timid voice broke the awkward silence a while later when the part of me that longed for human connection suddenly decided to speak up. The other teacher smiled. "I know a great bookstore. You should go some time." I scribbled down the name and address he gave me and we said goodnight. Desperate literature. That was the name of the bookstore and it made me wonder how much misery my face had given away. 

Three days later, I had a free afternoon and decided to go for it. Now, to a normal person, stepping into unknown territory may not seem like such a big deal, but for someone with panic disorder, it requires careful planning and plenty of courage. So when I arrived only to find the store closed for siesta, I did what no normal person would do. I sat down and waited. For two hours. Because I knew that if I left, I would never come back.

The doors finally opened and a friendly girl with purple hair welcomed me. I entered and literally stumbled over a book called Reasons to stay alive, which had been placed on a small table right in front of the door. I picked it up and read the few lines on the back page, then held the book close to my chest.

Desperate Literature

It was a book written by Matt Haig and it had spoken my name as I was waiting outside. I instinctively knew that this must be why I had been sent here but, unfortunately, I couldn’t afford to buy it. I was still paying off the debts of my hospital bills and wasn’t supposed to spend any money so I put the book down and had a look around.

The shop was small and there were books upon books stacked on the shelves covering the walls all the way up to the ceiling. I took three steps into the back room and found a section of French classics, which I carefully held in my hand before lifting them up to my nose, randomly opening pages and breathing in the smell of words. Sentences. Stories. Sensations. Was this what happiness felt like? I couldn’t quite remember.

I walked in circles around the store and each time I passed the front table I picked up Matt Haig's book again. “We take credit cards!” the cashier cried out the fifth time I came around. My hands shook as I handed her the book along with my card, which was supposed to be for emergencies only. “I’ll take it.”

That night, I didn’t sleep. For the first time in what felt like forever although in reality was only a year, I had someone who understood. Who had been where I was. Who knew what it’s like to stand on the edge, contemplating another step. Matt and I spoke the same language. We talked about insomnia, inability to speak, air too thin to breathe, disconnection, dread, darkness, the weight of guilt, trying to keep afloat, not having a single waking second outside of fear and longing, above all else, to just feel normal.

But not only did Matt understand, he also gave me hope. He didn’t say that it will all be okay because how could it possibly ever be okay. He said it takes time. He said one day, you will see a tiny bit of the blue sky emerge behind the clouds again. You will read one (short) paragraph, then maybe one more and eventually, you will finish a whole chapter. And then start a new one, while leaving an old one behind.

He made me see that depression and anxiety are liars who tell us things that aren’t true. He promised me that even when I feel like I'm sinking, there is a stronger part of me that remains steady. He assured me that pleasure can grow out of the pain and that I will one day feel a joy that matches this sadness. That is the hope that I still live by today and if I forget, I dive into Matt's book to remind myself again. In fact, in the year that has passed since I first visited Desperate Literature, I have read over twenty books and enjoyed every single one of them.

The tall handsome stranger and I never really had a conversation again. We passed by each other in the hallways at work a couple of times, but I never knew how to say thank you. I didn’t know how to tell him how much his words had meant to me. Not just the recommendation but the fact that he saw me when I felt invisible and alone in the world.

We never know what someone is going through, but we also never know who needs to hear what we have to say. Nothing is random and no kind word is ever wasted so don’t be afraid to reach out and break the silence. You might just give someone a reason to live.

Inhale - stay in the present moment. Exhale - it's a wonderful moment.