especially when it’s rooted in fantasy, not foundation.
And here I am… back in the hot tub. Letting the warm water massage my calves, my legs, my thoughts. I’m just here, in cambo, reflecting.
There are so many things a person might want in this life. And for me, one of them — one I’ve always held close — was the hope of having a son. Sometimes I find myself watching other parents with their boys, quietly, maybe even a little curiously.
And then, the reality sets back in. We’re born with nothing. Just breath and the hope for time. Over time, we build skills, talents, memories, understanding, a sense of direction. We gain access to what we need: air, water, food, shelter, clothing. The essentials. But then we’re sold more — the appearance, the titles, the “dream job,” the lifestyle. We start investing in things, in images, in wants.
But at some point, a line has to be drawn: what we need vs. what we want. And the moment you truly accept that difference, everything shifts. Wants are just that — things you don’t need. When you invest too deeply in the wrong things, disappointment becomes a cycle. A habit. Because expectations grow in places they were never meant to.
The greater the desire, the greater the disappointment especially when it’s rooted in fantasy, not foundation.
Today, though… today was peaceful. Productive. I sat in stillness, listened to music, wrote my thoughts out across multiple diary posts. I did what I love most: people-watching. Observing life unfold around me. Watching kids be kids. Watching them love their parents. It’s beautiful to witness dependency in its purest form. Unconditional and trusting.
Independence? It’s loud. Overwhelming. It’s sold as freedom, but often it just turns you into a resource for others: your plants, your pets, your kids, your partner. And if those relationships aren’t balanced or healthy… that role can break you. Slowly. Quietly.
But today, I’m reclaiming my time. Just for me. I’ve created some space to thrive, to reflect, to isolate when needed — and I do well in solitude. I thrive in it. There’s safety there. Knowing that I exist not for others, but for my own goodness.
And that… that’s enough.
Dear Diary, 