A different
kind of practice.

I sit and breathe. I begin with myself, wishing myself well without condition. Then I let it move outward: to the people I love, the people I know, and the people I've never met. I hold the image of people moving through their day with kindness toward one another. For me, it is a practice of seeing what is possible.

I sit and breathe, opening to something larger than myself. I imagine being held by a love without conditions, edges, or an end. Not earned. Not owed. Simply present, the way light is present. I rest with that and let the boundary between myself and the source soften.

I sit and breathe. I make room for the fear someone else may be carrying: a mother worried about rent, a man who has lost his sense of purpose, a child who does not feel safe. I try not to rush to fix it or turn away. I sit with their pain and notice what it opens in my own heart.

I sit and breathe. I practice releasing my grip—not because everything is fine, but because holding tighter has not made it so. I move through what I am carrying: my plans, fears, and need to know. I practice setting them down. What remains when I stop insisting? That is where I begin to find trust.