Last week felt like walking through a dream I couldn’t quite name—part warmth, part ache. There were strange instincts whispering at odd moments, and a heaviness that settled in quietly whenever I was around others. I noticed how drained I became after casual conversations at work, even when nothing was overtly wrong. Something in my nervous system kept tightening like a violin string pulled too hard. I tried to breathe through it, to listen deeply, to remain open. But sometimes, my emotions spilled through the cracks. I’d feel irritated when the team talked about themselves, and yet—oddly—I also enjoyed hearing their stories. That contradiction tugged at me. I didn’t always understand myself, but I stayed with it.

In the middle of that emotional noise, something else stirred: people. Kindness. A few unexpected messages from old friends popped into my inbox. Simple check-ins. Random memories. A “how was your day?” that landed exactly when I needed it. I appreciated their effort—small ripples of connection that reminded me I wasn’t drifting alone.

And then, there was Jenna.

Letting her go has been a quiet ache in the backdrop of everything. She’s my soon-to-be ex-wife, but part of me still clings to the us we were. I know it’s probably for the best. I do. I trust that time will show us why this chapter is ending. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. I still love her, and I don’t know if she feels the same anymore. She’s ready to date again. I’m still here…hoping.

Sorry—I talk about her a lot. It’s just how I feel today. Raw. Real.

This afternoon, I went hiking with a friend. I needed the open air, the crunch of gravel underfoot, the distraction of movement. As we talked, I spotted a hummingbird. I smiled, feeling like the universe was offering me a tiny, flitting moment of magic. Then a ladybug landed nearby. And, of course, my thoughts went straight to Jenna. Still tethered.

Right after that—like clockwork—she texted. Just about taxes. Nothing personal. We exchanged a few messages and that was it. I told her to have a good week. I meant it. Because no matter what, being kind is part of who I am. That’s something I don’t want to lose.

Still… I hope she sees that I’m a good person. I hope that one day, we’ll reconnect—not out of need, but from a place of peace. As friends. Or close friends. Or something only the universe can name.

For now, I’m focusing on the people who show up. The ones who check in. I promise myself that I’ll respond, that I’ll be there too. No more disappearing acts. I want to be better. Kinder. More me.

I’m manifesting something gentler. A version of my life where I belong fully—to myself, to the quiet joy of real connection. Where I can walk through the world with less weight on my shoulders, and more light in my heart.

And if you’ve made it this far, I want to ask you—when was the last time you really let go of something you loved? How did you make peace with it? Or are you still in the middle of that journey too?