#personalreflection — Public Fediverse posts

✮ The Pop Has Finally Lost Its Fizzle ✮

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Stumbling Block

It seems I have always been stumbling, tripping over the unintended in a fog of wandering wonder.

The mist has been ever around me, my cloud by day. I am enveloped by mystery.

You do indeed love to surprise me, O God;

two girls find shiny stones in a fountain and their joy chases away the despair at not finding a loved one,

the hospitality of friends lightens the weight upon a heavy chest from a returning to what was and the traveler can breathe again into what will be,

a mother’s words and the night breeze dries a daughter’s tears and she can smile at the deep thrum of a bullfrog,

lovers lie for a moment in the morning and the frustrations of yesterday fade into the quiet beginnings of another day.

It is time then.

I rise up into the bone crackling morning, my body protesting, my spirit already stretching out along the places I will see.

Inside, I find I am ready for more stumbling.

July 29, 2022

Stumbling Block

It seems I have always been stumbling, tripping over the unintended in a fog of wandering wonder.

The mist has been ever around me, my cloud by day. I am enveloped by mystery.

You do indeed love to surprise me, O God;

two girls find shiny stones in a fountain and their joy chases away the despair at not finding a loved one,

the hospitality of friends lightens the weight upon a heavy chest from a returning to what was and the traveler can breathe again into what will be,

a mother’s words and the night breeze dries a daughter’s tears and she can smile at the deep thrum of a bullfrog,

lovers lie for a moment in the morning and the frustrations of yesterday fade into the quiet beginnings of another day.

It is time then.

I rise up into the bone crackling morning, my body protesting, my spirit already stretching out along the places I will see.

Inside, I find I am ready for more stumbling.

July 29, 2022

✮ Glass Crown ✮

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✮ Fueled ✮

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✮ A Word’s Measure ✮

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The Little Corner of the Internet I Call Home

https://shahblog1.wordpress.com/2026/07/12/the-little-corner-of-the-internet-i-call-home/

The Little Corner of the Internet I Call Home

https://shahblog1.wordpress.com/2026/07/12/the-little-corner-of-the-internet-i-call-home/

How I feel wearing flare pants. 😭

#PersonalReflection #FlarePants #BodyImage

The Blank Page and an Unexpected Conversation

https://shahblog1.wordpress.com/2026/06/25/the-blank-page-and-an-unexpected-conversation/

The Blank Page and an Unexpected Conversation

https://shahblog1.wordpress.com/2026/06/25/the-blank-page-and-an-unexpected-conversation/

Visual Art Interpretation – My Hopes and Dreams for the Next Year

This feels less like a list of resolutions than a marquee-map of my identity and desire: a radiant, hand-made 2027 filled not so much with tasks to accomplish as with the people, callings, loves, and practices that make my life feel alive.

The bright red border and repeated golden lights give it the appearance of a theater sign, a carnival ride, or an illuminated road. It seems to announce the year joyfully: Here is what I hope will shine. But inside that celebratory outline, the words do not sit neatly in straight lines. They curve, turn, reverse, overlap, and require the eye to travel. That seems important. My hopes are not separate boxes. Pastor, husband, author, musician, PeaceGrooves creator, friend, artist, woodworker, child of God—all of these identities wind through and around one another.

The words I placed inside the year—Sing, Play, Memories, God, Laugh, Journey, Pastor, Author, Husband, PeaceGrooves, Friends, Art, Church, Love, Woodcraft—are striking to me because so many of them are relational or creative. Even the roles are not primarily about achievement. Author is near Husband. Pastor winds along the same road as Journey. PeaceGrooves circles alongside Friends, Church, Love, and creativity. I did not imagine the coming year as productivity alone. I imagined it as belonging, expression, vocation, joy, and connection.

The Word I Did Not Write

After finishing the piece, I realized that I did not write health or healing anywhere inside it. Those things matter deeply to me, especially in light of some of the physical concerns and uncertainties I have been carrying. And yet, perhaps their absence does not mean they were forgotten. Perhaps I instinctively wrote the life I hope healing will allow me to continue inhabiting.

I did not write healing, but I wrote Sing-Play: the hope that my body and spirit can still release themselves into music.

I wrote Laugh: the hope for lightness, delight, and joy.

I wrote Journey: the hope that I can continue moving forward.

I wrote Husband and Friends: the hope of remaining present in love and relationship rather than retreating into worry or isolation.

I wrote Pastor and Church: the hope that I can continue serving meaningfully among people.

I wrote Art, Author, Woodcraft, and PeaceGrooves: the hope that creativity will continue flowing through me rather than being swallowed up by discouragement, exhaustion, or fear.

Perhaps healing is everywhere in this drawing without having been named. It is hidden beneath almost every word: Let me be well enough, free enough, encouraged enough, and alive enough to keep inhabiting these loves.

But perhaps the omission also tells me something tender and difficult about myself. When I think about the future, I often think first about what I can give, create, serve, love, and build. I may not always think first about what I need. This picture invites me to remember that somewhere in the glowing year ahead, there must also be room for my own care. I am not only the husband, pastor, artist, author, musician, friend, and creator. I am also a person who needs healing, rest, gentleness, and grace.

The Smear Between Author and Husband

One of the small accidents in the piece occurred in the space between Author and Husband. Water smeared the color there, and I had to cover it as best I could. I was mostly able to hide the mistake, though I know it happened. I know that beneath the finished surface there is a place where the colors once ran together in a way I did not intend.

That accidental smear now feels strangely meaningful. Author and Husband are two of my most intimate identities: the part of me that creates worlds and gives language to inner experience, and the part of me that shares an actual life in love and covenant with another person. Perhaps those two identities were never meant to be sharply separated. My writing rises from my lived relationships, from tenderness, memory, fear, faith, longing, disappointment, and love. And my creative life inevitably spills into the life I share with my wife.

The water touched the border between those words, and I tried to repair it. That is not a failure of the picture. It may be one of the most honest parts of it. Life does not remain perfectly inside the lines. The roles I care most about do not remain untouched by mess, vulnerability, or accident. Sometimes the colors run together. Sometimes I try to cover what went wrong. Sometimes a trace remains, visible mostly to me.

Yet I did not throw the picture away. I continued working on it. I allowed the imperfection to become part of the finished whole.

Perhaps that is an image of grace. A life of grace is not a life where nothing ever gets smeared. It is a life in which even the smeared places can be incorporated into the beauty.

Church: Almost Illegible

I also noticed that Church almost looks like “Churgh.” It is there, but it is not the clearest or most immediately readable word. That, too, feels symbolic.

Church is deeply present in my hopes for the coming year. It is part of who I am, part of my calling, part of my relationship with God and with community. But church is not always simple or perfectly clear. It can be difficult to read. It can be beautiful and messy, life-giving and exhausting, sacred and profoundly human all at once.

In this picture, church does not appear by itself in a clean, isolated space. It is crowded into a circling path alongside other words: Love, Friends, Art, perhaps even the movements of creativity and ministry surrounding it. That seems truthful. For me, church is not separate from love, friendship, art, imagination, service, or reconciliation. It is entangled with them.

The fact that the word is only almost clear may express something I feel: church is something I continue to believe in and belong to, while also still trying to see clearly. It is present. It matters. It is part of the year I hope to live. But it is not polished or uncomplicated.

Perhaps that is what makes it real.

The Shape of the Year

The large number itself is not simply filled in. It becomes a winding course. The words curve around turns and corners; some appear upright from one angle and upside down from another. To read the whole image, I almost have to rotate it, follow it, and let my eyes travel through it.

That feels like an honest representation of the year ahead. I do not know exactly how it will unfold. My hopes do not form a straight road or a neatly numbered plan. They form a brightly lit labyrinth. Something that appears upside down from one position may look different once I travel farther along the curve. Something that seems peripheral now may become central. Something disappointing may redirect me toward an unexpected opening.

This drawing does not say, Here is my plan to master the next year.

It says, Here is the glowing path I hope to inhabit.

That is truer to my life. Music feeds ministry. Woodcraft feeds contemplation. Writing feeds faith. PeaceGrooves gathers together my imagination, my longing for peace, my love of play, and my desire to offer something meaningful to others. Marriage and friendship keep my creative life from becoming merely solitary. Church places my personal dreams within a larger body. God is not outside all these things, looking down upon them from a distance, but present among them.

My life is not a ladder climbing toward a single success. It is a winding, illuminated journey through many loves.

The Lights Around the Border

The repeated yellow bulbs around the border give the piece a vintage, celebratory feeling. They make the year look like something being announced: a show beginning, a stage opening, a bright invitation to enter.

There is something almost exuberant about it. I did not draw a quiet little calendar page or a restrained list of intentions. I drew the year as a spectacle of hope. These dreams are not small to me. They are worthy of light. Music, laughter, love, friendship, art, faith, craft, writing, church, PeaceGrooves—these are not hobbies or decorative extras around the edge of life. They are among the things that make life worth living.

And yet the lights are not machine-perfect. They are hand-drawn. Each one is slightly different. Some are rounder, some rougher, some more irregular. That matters too. The brightness of this coming year is not a slick commercial promise that everything will be perfect. It is the brightness I have carefully drawn around my hopes with my own imperfect hand.

Most moving of all, the lights continue around the bends. They do not shine only along the smooth or impressive stretches. They follow the narrow turns, the dips, the places where the shape curls inward. The light does not abandon the complicated places.

What This Picture Says to Me

This is a picture of my hope not merely to survive another year, but to remain fully myself within it.

I want to sing and play.

I want to laugh.

I want to remember.

I want to journey.

I want to love and be loved.

I want to remain a husband, a pastor, an author, an artist, a craftsman, a musician, a friend, and a dreamer.

I want PeaceGrooves not merely to exist as a project, but to become an expression of something deep within me: my longing to imagine, create, and make peace.

I want God not as an abstract religious idea floating somewhere outside my life, but as a living presence woven among music, love, creativity, friendship, church, memory, laughter, and journey.

And perhaps beneath the entire picture is the word I did not write: wholeness.

Wholeness includes health. It includes healing. But it is larger than both. It is the hope that all these different names for myself will not compete with one another, break apart, or fade away, but somehow curve together into a single radiant life.

The smear between Author and Husband, the almost-illegible Church, the reversed words, the crowded pathways, the uneven bulbs, and the wandering design do not lessen the picture. They make it more truthful.

My hopes for the next year are not cleanly arranged or perfectly protected from mistakes. They are handmade. They are entangled. They are vulnerable. They are colorful. They are imperfect.

And they are still shining.

Visual Art Interpretation – My Hopes and Dreams for the Next Year

This feels less like a list of resolutions than a marquee-map of my identity and desire: a radiant, hand-made 2027 filled not so much with tasks to accomplish as with the people, callings, loves, and practices that make my life feel alive.

The bright red border and repeated golden lights give it the appearance of a theater sign, a carnival ride, or an illuminated road. It seems to announce the year joyfully: Here is what I hope will shine. But inside that celebratory outline, the words do not sit neatly in straight lines. They curve, turn, reverse, overlap, and require the eye to travel. That seems important. My hopes are not separate boxes. Pastor, husband, author, musician, PeaceGrooves creator, friend, artist, woodworker, child of God—all of these identities wind through and around one another.

The words I placed inside the year—Sing, Play, Memories, God, Laugh, Journey, Pastor, Author, Husband, PeaceGrooves, Friends, Art, Church, Love, Woodcraft—are striking to me because so many of them are relational or creative. Even the roles are not primarily about achievement. Author is near Husband. Pastor winds along the same road as Journey. PeaceGrooves circles alongside Friends, Church, Love, and creativity. I did not imagine the coming year as productivity alone. I imagined it as belonging, expression, vocation, joy, and connection.

The Word I Did Not Write

After finishing the piece, I realized that I did not write health or healing anywhere inside it. Those things matter deeply to me, especially in light of some of the physical concerns and uncertainties I have been carrying. And yet, perhaps their absence does not mean they were forgotten. Perhaps I instinctively wrote the life I hope healing will allow me to continue inhabiting.

I did not write healing, but I wrote Sing-Play: the hope that my body and spirit can still release themselves into music.

I wrote Laugh: the hope for lightness, delight, and joy.

I wrote Journey: the hope that I can continue moving forward.

I wrote Husband and Friends: the hope of remaining present in love and relationship rather than retreating into worry or isolation.

I wrote Pastor and Church: the hope that I can continue serving meaningfully among people.

I wrote Art, Author, Woodcraft, and PeaceGrooves: the hope that creativity will continue flowing through me rather than being swallowed up by discouragement, exhaustion, or fear.

Perhaps healing is everywhere in this drawing without having been named. It is hidden beneath almost every word: Let me be well enough, free enough, encouraged enough, and alive enough to keep inhabiting these loves.

But perhaps the omission also tells me something tender and difficult about myself. When I think about the future, I often think first about what I can give, create, serve, love, and build. I may not always think first about what I need. This picture invites me to remember that somewhere in the glowing year ahead, there must also be room for my own care. I am not only the husband, pastor, artist, author, musician, friend, and creator. I am also a person who needs healing, rest, gentleness, and grace.

The Smear Between Author and Husband

One of the small accidents in the piece occurred in the space between Author and Husband. Water smeared the color there, and I had to cover it as best I could. I was mostly able to hide the mistake, though I know it happened. I know that beneath the finished surface there is a place where the colors once ran together in a way I did not intend.

That accidental smear now feels strangely meaningful. Author and Husband are two of my most intimate identities: the part of me that creates worlds and gives language to inner experience, and the part of me that shares an actual life in love and covenant with another person. Perhaps those two identities were never meant to be sharply separated. My writing rises from my lived relationships, from tenderness, memory, fear, faith, longing, disappointment, and love. And my creative life inevitably spills into the life I share with my wife.

The water touched the border between those words, and I tried to repair it. That is not a failure of the picture. It may be one of the most honest parts of it. Life does not remain perfectly inside the lines. The roles I care most about do not remain untouched by mess, vulnerability, or accident. Sometimes the colors run together. Sometimes I try to cover what went wrong. Sometimes a trace remains, visible mostly to me.

Yet I did not throw the picture away. I continued working on it. I allowed the imperfection to become part of the finished whole.

Perhaps that is an image of grace. A life of grace is not a life where nothing ever gets smeared. It is a life in which even the smeared places can be incorporated into the beauty.

Church: Almost Illegible

I also noticed that Church almost looks like “Churgh.” It is there, but it is not the clearest or most immediately readable word. That, too, feels symbolic.

Church is deeply present in my hopes for the coming year. It is part of who I am, part of my calling, part of my relationship with God and with community. But church is not always simple or perfectly clear. It can be difficult to read. It can be beautiful and messy, life-giving and exhausting, sacred and profoundly human all at once.

In this picture, church does not appear by itself in a clean, isolated space. It is crowded into a circling path alongside other words: Love, Friends, Art, perhaps even the movements of creativity and ministry surrounding it. That seems truthful. For me, church is not separate from love, friendship, art, imagination, service, or reconciliation. It is entangled with them.

The fact that the word is only almost clear may express something I feel: church is something I continue to believe in and belong to, while also still trying to see clearly. It is present. It matters. It is part of the year I hope to live. But it is not polished or uncomplicated.

Perhaps that is what makes it real.

The Shape of the Year

The large number itself is not simply filled in. It becomes a winding course. The words curve around turns and corners; some appear upright from one angle and upside down from another. To read the whole image, I almost have to rotate it, follow it, and let my eyes travel through it.

That feels like an honest representation of the year ahead. I do not know exactly how it will unfold. My hopes do not form a straight road or a neatly numbered plan. They form a brightly lit labyrinth. Something that appears upside down from one position may look different once I travel farther along the curve. Something that seems peripheral now may become central. Something disappointing may redirect me toward an unexpected opening.

This drawing does not say, Here is my plan to master the next year.

It says, Here is the glowing path I hope to inhabit.

That is truer to my life. Music feeds ministry. Woodcraft feeds contemplation. Writing feeds faith. PeaceGrooves gathers together my imagination, my longing for peace, my love of play, and my desire to offer something meaningful to others. Marriage and friendship keep my creative life from becoming merely solitary. Church places my personal dreams within a larger body. God is not outside all these things, looking down upon them from a distance, but present among them.

My life is not a ladder climbing toward a single success. It is a winding, illuminated journey through many loves.

The Lights Around the Border

The repeated yellow bulbs around the border give the piece a vintage, celebratory feeling. They make the year look like something being announced: a show beginning, a stage opening, a bright invitation to enter.

There is something almost exuberant about it. I did not draw a quiet little calendar page or a restrained list of intentions. I drew the year as a spectacle of hope. These dreams are not small to me. They are worthy of light. Music, laughter, love, friendship, art, faith, craft, writing, church, PeaceGrooves—these are not hobbies or decorative extras around the edge of life. They are among the things that make life worth living.

And yet the lights are not machine-perfect. They are hand-drawn. Each one is slightly different. Some are rounder, some rougher, some more irregular. That matters too. The brightness of this coming year is not a slick commercial promise that everything will be perfect. It is the brightness I have carefully drawn around my hopes with my own imperfect hand.

Most moving of all, the lights continue around the bends. They do not shine only along the smooth or impressive stretches. They follow the narrow turns, the dips, the places where the shape curls inward. The light does not abandon the complicated places.

What This Picture Says to Me

This is a picture of my hope not merely to survive another year, but to remain fully myself within it.

I want to sing and play.

I want to laugh.

I want to remember.

I want to journey.

I want to love and be loved.

I want to remain a husband, a pastor, an author, an artist, a craftsman, a musician, a friend, and a dreamer.

I want PeaceGrooves not merely to exist as a project, but to become an expression of something deep within me: my longing to imagine, create, and make peace.

I want God not as an abstract religious idea floating somewhere outside my life, but as a living presence woven among music, love, creativity, friendship, church, memory, laughter, and journey.

And perhaps beneath the entire picture is the word I did not write: wholeness.

Wholeness includes health. It includes healing. But it is larger than both. It is the hope that all these different names for myself will not compete with one another, break apart, or fade away, but somehow curve together into a single radiant life.

The smear between Author and Husband, the almost-illegible Church, the reversed words, the crowded pathways, the uneven bulbs, and the wandering design do not lessen the picture. They make it more truthful.

My hopes for the next year are not cleanly arranged or perfectly protected from mistakes. They are handmade. They are entangled. They are vulnerable. They are colorful. They are imperfect.

And they are still shining.

✮ Dots ✮

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When Nations Turn Toward Their Own Minds

https://thereflectivemind9.wordpress.com/2026/06/04/when-nations-turn-toward-their-own-minds/

When Nations Turn Toward Their Own Minds

https://thereflectivemind9.wordpress.com/2026/06/04/when-nations-turn-toward-their-own-minds/

Do our beliefs shape our opinions—or do our opinions shape our beliefs? A thought-provoking reflection on the ideas that influence how we see the world.

#Beliefs #PersonalReflection #LifeLessons

Read more: https://www.wyalusing-wes.com/opinions-about-beliefs/

⏳ You appreciate stories that create nostalgia and make readers reflect on their own lives.

https://httpsknowverse.wordpress.com/2026/05/31/%e2%8f%b3-you-appreciate-stories-that-create-nostalgia-and-make-readers-reflect-on-their-own-lives-2/

⏳ You appreciate stories that create nostalgia and make readers reflect on their own lives.

https://httpsknowverse.wordpress.com/2026/05/31/%e2%8f%b3-you-appreciate-stories-that-create-nostalgia-and-make-readers-reflect-on-their-own-lives/

⏳ You appreciate stories that create nostalgia and make readers reflect on their own lives.

https://httpsknowverse.wordpress.com/2026/05/31/%e2%8f%b3-you-appreciate-stories-that-create-nostalgia-and-make-readers-reflect-on-their-own-lives-3/

⏳ You appreciate stories that create nostalgia and make readers reflect on their own lives.

https://httpsknowverse.wordpress.com/2026/05/31/%e2%8f%b3-you-appreciate-stories-that-create-nostalgia-and-make-readers-reflect-on-their-own-lives-3/

⏳ You appreciate stories that create nostalgia and make readers reflect on their own lives.

https://httpsknowverse.wordpress.com/2026/05/31/%e2%8f%b3-you-appreciate-stories-that-create-nostalgia-and-make-readers-reflect-on-their-own-lives/

⏳ You appreciate stories that create nostalgia and make readers reflect on their own lives.

https://httpsknowverse.wordpress.com/2026/05/31/%e2%8f%b3-you-appreciate-stories-that-create-nostalgia-and-make-readers-reflect-on-their-own-lives-2/

✮ Everything Given ✮

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A Mother-Daughter 2025 Cruise Trip: Our Honest Experience Visiting Jamaica by Cruise

Our next stop after Nassau was Jamaica, where we ported two days later, and I remember feeling just as excited stepping off the ship as I had at the previous port. There’s something about arriving somewhere new for the first time, like the curiosity, the anticipation, and the quiet wonder of not knowing exactly what to expect. I was eager to see what kind of experience awaited us there and how Jamaica would differ from Nassau, which we had previously visited.

The first thing I noticed as we walked along the gangway into Ocho Rios was the burst of bright, beautiful colors from the vendors’ booths lining the path. They stretched along much of the walkway, giving visitors the chance to stop, browse, and briefly chat with locals if they wanted.

The booths were packed with all sorts of things: clothing, straw hats, purses, fresh fruit, rum, and other eye-catching souvenirs. Nearby, a man stood with a parrot, offering photos to anyone interested.

From the moment we stepped off the ship, Jamaica’s scenery was mesmerizing. The vibrant flowers, colorful surroundings, and the busy energy of people everywhere made the place feel full of life and almost breathtaking.

The gangway was already pretty crowded, even though only our ship was in port at first. Not long after, another ship arrived, and the area became even busier.

At first, we were simply taking everything in and enjoying the atmosphere, but as we moved farther along, the energy around us began to feel more intense than I had expected.

Near the end of the gangway, a group of men stood together. They were tour guides, cab drivers, or maybe both, calling out to anyone who needed a ride or a tour. One man approached us and was especially persistent, insisting that we let him show us around and drive us wherever we wanted to go.

I understood he was just trying to make a living and offer what he thought was helpful. Still, we had planned to walk to the nearby tourist area, where many of our fellow shipmates were already going.

As he kept talking, I started to feel uneasy. It wasn’t really about what he was offering, but more about how persistent he was. I also didn’t feel comfortable getting into a car with someone I didn’t know. Whether my instincts were right or not, something inside me just said no.

We left the first man behind and stepped off the gangway onto the roadside, planning to walk toward the tourist area. At first, we went the wrong way, and another man offered us a tour. We said no, turned around, and headed back, which meant passing the gangway exit again.

After we passed the exit, another man approached us with the same offer. By then, I was out of patience, so we decided to head back to the ship.

We tried to avoid the first man we had encountered, but he spotted us right away. Once again, he began insisting on the same offer, pressing us even after we had already said no. This time, I told him firmly but politely that I wasn’t interested, that we didn’t need a ride into town, and that we were heading back to the ship.

He apologized and finally left us alone.

Looking back now, part of me wishes we had kept going once we stepped off the gangway and started walking along the road, especially since other shipmates were doing the same. I also wish I hadn’t let that last interaction make me turn around so quickly. We probably would have made it into town, taken in more of the sights, and had a different experience altogether. Instead, we ended up back on the ship after being off for less than forty minutes, if that.

Still, once we were back on the ship, the day felt a little softer.

We had lunch, and afterward I took a nap on the top deck while my daughter played games on her phone. I remember the air feeling cool and warm at once as it moved against my skin, and for a while, everything felt quiet again.

After I woke up, we walked around the top deck and took in a full panoramic view of the island from where we stood. The photos we took don’t do it justice. It was breathtaking. By then, not making it into town didn’t sting the way it had earlier. I told myself we could always come back to Jamaica another day and experience it differently.

A few hours later, we stayed on the top deck, people-watching with others as everyone watched the pier runners try to get back before boarding closed. We felt bad for anyone who might not make it, since once the ship’s doors closed, that was it. Still, it was oddly entertaining to watch the last-minute rush from a distance.

The day ended with dinner, and later with what was called the Silent Party, where the DJ played music that could only be heard through the provided Bluetooth headphones. It was such a fun experience because we had never done anything like that before. Without the headphones, it looked hilarious watching people dance around in near silence, but once you put them on, everyone was fully immersed, dancing and singing along to one of two music channels of their choice.

Even though our time in Jamaica didn’t go as we had hoped, we still found ways to enjoy the day. We relaxed on the top deck, people-watched, and laughed together at the Silent Party that night.

Jamaica turned out to be the most complicated stop on our trip. It was beautiful, vibrant, and full of life, but it also reminded me how important it is to trust my instincts, even when I later question them. We didn’t get the experience I had imagined, but we still left with a memory—just not the one I expected.

Trips may not always go the way we hope, but even imperfect experiences can turn into meaningful memories. Life is short, and sometimes the best thing we can do is give ourselves permission to go, explore, and make memories while we can.

Have you ever found yourself on a journey where you had to rely on your gut feeling? Share your story in the comments, we can’t wait to hear about your adventures.

Thanks so much for reading!

A Mother-Daughter 2025 Cruise Trip: Our Honest Experience Visiting Jamaica by Cruise

Our next stop after Nassau was Jamaica, where we ported two days later, and I remember feeling just as excited stepping off the ship as I had at the previous port. There’s something about arriving somewhere new for the first time, like the curiosity, the anticipation, and the quiet wonder of not knowing exactly what to expect. I was eager to see what kind of experience awaited us there and how Jamaica would differ from Nassau, which we had previously visited.

The first thing I noticed as we walked along the gangway into Ocho Rios was the burst of bright, beautiful colors from the vendors’ booths lining the path. They stretched along much of the walkway, giving visitors the chance to stop, browse, and briefly chat with locals if they wanted.

The booths were packed with all sorts of things: clothing, straw hats, purses, fresh fruit, rum, and other eye-catching souvenirs. Nearby, a man stood with a parrot, offering photos to anyone interested.

From the moment we stepped off the ship, Jamaica’s scenery was mesmerizing. The vibrant flowers, colorful surroundings, and the busy energy of people everywhere made the place feel full of life and almost breathtaking.

The gangway was already pretty crowded, even though only our ship was in port at first. Not long after, another ship arrived, and the area became even busier.

At first, we were simply taking everything in and enjoying the atmosphere, but as we moved farther along, the energy around us began to feel more intense than I had expected.

Near the end of the gangway, a group of men stood together. They were tour guides, cab drivers, or maybe both, calling out to anyone who needed a ride or a tour. One man approached us and was especially persistent, insisting that we let him show us around and drive us wherever we wanted to go.

I understood he was just trying to make a living and offer what he thought was helpful. Still, we had planned to walk to the nearby tourist area, where many of our fellow shipmates were already going.

As he kept talking, I started to feel uneasy. It wasn’t really about what he was offering, but more about how persistent he was. I also didn’t feel comfortable getting into a car with someone I didn’t know. Whether my instincts were right or not, something inside me just said no.

We left the first man behind and stepped off the gangway onto the roadside, planning to walk toward the tourist area. At first, we went the wrong way, and another man offered us a tour. We said no, turned around, and headed back, which meant passing the gangway exit again.

After we passed the exit, another man approached us with the same offer. By then, I was out of patience, so we decided to head back to the ship.

We tried to avoid the first man we had encountered, but he spotted us right away. Once again, he began insisting on the same offer, pressing us even after we had already said no. This time, I told him firmly but politely that I wasn’t interested, that we didn’t need a ride into town, and that we were heading back to the ship.

He apologized and finally left us alone.

Looking back now, part of me wishes we had kept going once we stepped off the gangway and started walking along the road, especially since other shipmates were doing the same. I also wish I hadn’t let that last interaction make me turn around so quickly. We probably would have made it into town, taken in more of the sights, and had a different experience altogether. Instead, we ended up back on the ship after being off for less than forty minutes, if that.

Still, once we were back on the ship, the day felt a little softer.

We had lunch, and afterward I took a nap on the top deck while my daughter played games on her phone. I remember the air feeling cool and warm at once as it moved against my skin, and for a while, everything felt quiet again.

After I woke up, we walked around the top deck and took in a full panoramic view of the island from where we stood. The photos we took don’t do it justice. It was breathtaking. By then, not making it into town didn’t sting the way it had earlier. I told myself we could always come back to Jamaica another day and experience it differently.

A few hours later, we stayed on the top deck, people-watching with others as everyone watched the pier runners try to get back before boarding closed. We felt bad for anyone who might not make it, since once the ship’s doors closed, that was it. Still, it was oddly entertaining to watch the last-minute rush from a distance.

The day ended with dinner, and later with what was called the Silent Party, where the DJ played music that could only be heard through the provided Bluetooth headphones. It was such a fun experience because we had never done anything like that before. Without the headphones, it looked hilarious watching people dance around in near silence, but once you put them on, everyone was fully immersed, dancing and singing along to one of two music channels of their choice.

Even though our time in Jamaica didn’t go as we had hoped, we still found ways to enjoy the day. We relaxed on the top deck, people-watched, and laughed together at the Silent Party that night.

Jamaica turned out to be the most complicated stop on our trip. It was beautiful, vibrant, and full of life, but it also reminded me how important it is to trust my instincts, even when I later question them. We didn’t get the experience I had imagined, but we still left with a memory—just not the one I expected.

Trips may not always go the way we hope, but even imperfect experiences can turn into meaningful memories. Life is short, and sometimes the best thing we can do is give ourselves permission to go, explore, and make memories while we can.

Have you ever found yourself on a journey where you had to rely on your gut feeling? Share your story in the comments, we can’t wait to hear about your adventures.

Thanks so much for reading!

Blooming at my own pace this Valentines Season with a reflection on love, healing, and learning to hold on to what truly matters as I fight cancer.
#ValentinesDay
#CelebratingLove
#HopeAndHealing
#BeMyValentine
#LoveStillWins
#PersonalReflection
#LoveMeAnyways
#CancerFight
#KnowYourWorth
#LoveYou

https://rickollie.com/2026/02/01/youre-worth-a-lot-to-me-celebrating-valentines-love-this-month/?utm_source=mastodon&utm_medium=jetpack_social

How January 2026 Already Feels Like a Whole Year

https://jaimedavid.blog/2026/01/19/23/27/56/analysis/jaimedavid327/9127/how-january-2026-already-feels-like-a-whole-year/

Mantra of the day: increasing understanding and compassion is just plain old practical.
#dailyreflection #personalreflection

Mantra for the day: learn to live well within uncertain times.
#personalreflection #dailyreflection

Mantra of the day: Being here now sometimes means holding the long view.
#personalreflection #dailyreflection

Mantra for the day: Nothing is wrong with ordinary. I strive for it — ordinary like trees and birds, like rivers and mountains, like all creatures. Ordinary isn’t the same as normal; it’s simply part of the order of things. It’s the place where we all belong.
#personalreflection #dailyreflection

Mantra for the day: seeking to reduce suffering is always practical
#personalreflection #dailyreflection

Mantra for today: learn to die well to live well.
#personalreflection #dailyreflection

Mantra for the day: you can't do it on your own and nobody can do it for you.
#dailyreflection #personalreflection

Mantra for the day: A gift is a burden and a burden is a gift.
#personalreflection #dailyreflection

Mantra for the day: honor the somatic experience.
#personalreflection #dailyreflection

Mantra for the day: I'm always standing on the horizon for someone else.
#personalreflection #dailyreflection

Mantra for the day: hold your experience with an open palm.
#personalreflection #dailyreflection

Mantra for the Day: Practice non-practice.
#dailyreflection #personalreflection

Mantra for the Day: Everything exists in a context.
#dailyreflection #personalreflection

Mantra for the day: The ebb is essential for the flow; in fact, they are one.
#dailyreflection #personalreflection

Today's mantra: Binaries are a trick, so be a trickster.
#personalreflection #dailyreflection

Today's mantra: practicing at awareness to practice with awareness
#personalreflection #dailyreflection

Today's mantra: Metabolize the eternal 'now'.
#personalreflection #dailyreflection

Perhaps my last post – we'll see (2016)

http://itila.blogspot.com/2016/04/perhaps-my-last-post-well-see.html

#HackerNews #Perhaps #my #last #post #lastpost #personalreflection #blogging #2016nostalgia

Perhaps my last post – we'll see (2016)

http://itila.blogspot.com/2016/04/perhaps-my-last-post-well-see.html

#HackerNews #Perhaps #my #last #post #lastpost #personalreflection #blogging #2016nostalgia

Explore the disciples' journey of understanding Jesus' teachings and the importance of faith! Discover how their initial confusion evolved into profound comprehension through trust. Learn to apply this to your life and find clarity in God's plan! #FaithJourney #TrustInGod #DisciplesUnderstanding #FaithJourney #TrustInGod #JesusTeachings #PersonalReflection #SpiritualGrowth #ChristianLiving #BibleStudy

Reflect on personal flaws and the importance of listening to God during trials. Discover how God's path leads to growth, contrasting it with the 'highway to hell' analogy. Learn to embrace God's way for true fulfillment and navigate life's challenges with divine guidance. #HonestyAndGrowth #GodsWayOrHighway #DivineGuidance #FaithAndTrials #SpiritualGrowth #ListenToGod #PersonalReflection #FindingFulfillment #OvercomingChallenges #ACDCAnalogy

Can you relate?

#writer #writing #personalreflection #philosophy #spirituality #healing #insecurity

https://open.substack.com/pub/therebellioninsider/p/the-cost-of-being-nice?r=2c37jo&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=web&showWelcomeOnShare=true

To #Save Our #Democracy, #Stop #Fascist #Florida #Governor #RonDeSantis’ #Racist #Education #Crusade

A #personalreflection on the #counterrevolution against #Black #history from a #civilrights #attorney.

#Women #Transgender #LGBTQ #LGBTQIA #Florida #Education #Hate #Bigotry #Discrimination #Religion #RepublicanParty #Hate #Bigotry #Violence #Genocide #Discrimination #Racism #Homophobia #Transphobia #ThePartyOfHate #EmptyThePews #BlackMastodon

https://www.commondreams.org/opinion/stop-desantis-racist-education-crusade

I love this deck so much it’s very kind #tarot #personalreflection #journalling

Zigging when I should zag is my superpower.

#humor #PersonalReflection #HardTruths

The Wilderness of Ill

I came across a song I wrote and recorded years ago, titled “Fences.”
“I’m looking for a land with no fences. I’m heading for the wilderness, where the land is still at rest.” A year after writing it, I moved from the city to the wilderness.

Ten years later, I found myself wandering in another desert place. I had always been a man of good constitution. In my late 30s, I could not seem to stay well. I was wandering in the Wilderness of Ill.

Now another ten years have passed, and even though I have the typical aches and pains of a 40-plus-year-old body, I have my health back. Perhaps with age comes wisdom, but also a willingness to listen to those who might have the answer. The healing began in my belly and moved to my mind.

First, I discovered I was gluten intolerant. I simply stopped eating wheat and could stop drinking bottles of Mylanta. My gut healed. Now I’m having to cut back on soda, namely Dr. Pepper, which I am addicted to, but it is a nice problem to have. For a while there, I couldn’t have any because of severe heartburn.

Secondly, after much consultation with friends and my doc, I started taking Zoloft. I had avoided the symptoms of depression for years. Being someone who enjoys life and laughter has given me many coping mechanisms, but the ups and downs are taking their toll as life’s stresses increase. I was worried that my creativity would disappear, and it has been an adjustment. Now instead of the muse coming out of my manic phases, it is arising out of my center. There is more work involved, but the joy is deeper.

So I no longer wander in the Wilderness of Ill, though I still spend way too much time lurking around its borders. My belly and brain serve as gentle voices to steer me back into the land of plenty.