I remind myself that happiness doesn’t revolve around about what we don’t have.
Car rides with Akira are never dull. Her mind moves like a little philosopher, forming thoughts with such innocence and curiosity that leave me both amused and amazed.
Cracks, Rocks, and Truck Logic
As we were driving, she noticed a crack on the windshield. She confidently pieced together that a rock must have hit it while we were on the road. “Maybe it came from a truck,” I suggested. She reconsidered, shaking her head. “Probably not, because trucks can’t throw rocks.” Can’t what? I wasn’t sure, but in her world, the logic held up.
Wishing Wells and Sisterly Love
Out of nowhere, Akira asked about her sister, Ariyah. “I never got to meet her,” she said softly. “Maybe if only she wasn’t sick, so we should go get some coins and go to a wishing well to make a wish.” Her words hit differently, her innocence turning grief into something hopeful. If only life worked like a wishing well.
Leprechaun Mischief and The Hunt for Gold
Today, St. Patrick’s Day, she was full of excitement. Glitter on her face, she recounted how the leprechaun had come to school, made a mess, and turned everything green. “If we want to catch him,” she explained, “we need to find a four-leaf clover, then follow the rainbow—because leprechauns like coins.” Her belief in magic made me wish, for just a second, that I could see the world through her eyes again.
Burger King, Car Warmers, and Scientific Reasoning
She told me she was hungry, so we stopped at Burger King. But when I handed her the kids’ meal, she said she’d eat it later. “It’ll get cold,” I reminded her. She tilted her head, confused. “No, it won’t. We’re in the car, and the car is warm, so the car will keep the food warm.” In her little world, everything made perfect sense. And honestly? It kind of did.
Watching Akira piece together the world makes me think about how learning changes us. As children, we absorb knowledge with curiosity. As adults, that same knowledge can sometimes feel like a burden. We learn that life is a cycle of living and dying, of struggle and resilience. And while knowing more can help us navigate the world, it can also weigh on us.
Recently, while at a bookstore with my children, I came across a book called The Let Them Theory. It was about letting go—of control, of expectations, of resistance. The author shared how she once struggled with debt, career loss, and simply surviving. While my struggles don’t look exactly like hers, I relate to the idea that hardships aren’t always financial. Sometimes, they’re emotional. A heartbreak. An illness. A loss.
My teen daughter, in her sweet, selfless nature, offered to buy me that book with her birthday money. “It’s okay, Mama,” she insisted. “I want to.” She had been using her birthday money to buy gifts for her sisters too. The way she gives so freely, without hesitation, reminds me of the purity of love. I politely declined and suggested she use it for any additional things she may want later.
Lately, I’ve been thinking about how connection doesn’t always need words. Sometimes, it’s in the silent moments—the comforting presence of someone who just gets you. The feeling of being understood without explaining.
I believe in soul ties, the invisible threads that connect us to the people we are meant to be intertwined with. It’s a quiet kind of love, one that doesn’t demand, doesn’t expect, but just is.
Even in difficult times, I remind myself that happiness doesn’t revolve around what we don’t have—it’s about appreciating what we do. My kids. My parents. My loved ones. That’s enough. Everything else is extra. And the less we cling, the less we suffer when life inevitably shifts.
Sometimes, the best way to express love isn’t through words. It’s in a shared glance, a quiet understanding, a presence that says, I’m here. It’s easy to get caught up in explaining, justifying, over-communicating. But maybe, just maybe, the most powerful messages are the ones left unspoken.
And as I sit here, watching the rain fall in heavy drops, I think about how life keeps moving. The sky may be dark today, but the sun will shine again. Just like Akira, I want to believe in magic, in wishing wells, in following rainbows. Because no matter how much we know, there’s still beauty in the unknown.
Dear Diary, 