Bunny's Burrow: Hopping into Life

I think I’m making peace with the ending to my story... Not in some elegant, enlightened, woodland-creature way or shit like that. I still hate this disease. I hate what it takes. I hate how weird my body feels. I hate having to think about things that used to happen without asking me first. Frankly, my autonomic nervous system has become a terrible roommate if I do say so myself. But I’m not angry every second anymore. Mostly I’m just sad and weirdly, that feels softer. I know where this road goes. I’m not pretending otherwise. I don’t need a miracle speech or a brave face or somebody telling me to “keep fighting.” I am fighting, just differently now. By loving people properly. By laughing when I can. By drinking the good things. By noticing the light. By saying what I mean while I still get to say it. By enjoying outside. By talking to strangers. By finding new music. There is something almost peaceful about not arguing with the map anymore. I don’t like the destination. But I love t...

 There is a very old idea hiding underneath a ridiculous amount of modern spiritual language: you do not necessarily pray because God is somewhere else. Sometimes you pray because you are the one who has wandered off. That distinction matters. I have spent years reading religions, myths, philosophy, psychology, ritual texts, and the strange things human beings have done throughout history when they were trying to speak to whatever they believed was larger than themselves. Strip away the costumes, languages, temples, incense, priesthoods, metaphysics, and occasional unfortunate goat, and one pattern appears over and over again. Human beings become scattered. Then they develop a ritual for becoming whole again. This is mine. You can call it God, the divine mind, the higher self, conscience, the soul, the daemon, the spark, the Logos, awareness, or Rock if you absolutely must. The name interests me less than the function. The point is not to convince yourself that you are God in the n...

  The first time I had a real Philly cheesesteak, I think I actually stopped talking for a second. If you know me, that's basically a medical emergency. I'd spent way too much time reading about which place was "the best," because apparently Philadelphians will defend their favorite cheesesteak like it's part of the Constitution. Honestly? I get it now. The smell of sizzling steak and onions hit me before I even reached the counter, and suddenly every other sandwich I'd ever eaten was looking a little suspicious. I ended up sending Ivan to  John's Roast Pork , and wow... whoever decided to put that much perfectly chopped steak, gooey cheese, and grilled onions on a fresh seeded roll deserves a hug. Or at least a really enthusiastic high-five. Every bite somehow got better, and I caught myself smiling at absolutely nothing like I'd just been complimented by my crush. The bread stayed perfectly together, the meat was ridiculously tender, and the whole th...

 Losing a friend has a way of making you stop and ask questions you didn't know you needed to ask. Not because every ending is someone's fault, but because every relationship leaves something to learn from. I've been doing a lot of thinking about who I am, how I communicate, and where I can grow. It's easy to point outward when we're hurting; it's much harder and often more worthwhile to look inward. I don't want this experience to make me bitter. I want it to make me kinder, wiser, and more intentional with the people who are still in my life. Sometimes the hardest lessons come wrapped in goodbye, and all we can do is thank them for what they taught us and keep becoming a better version of ourselves. ❤️

  The People Who Quietly Hold the Sky Up Some people make history by stepping onto the biggest stage. Others make it possible for someone else to stand there. I've been thinking lately about the second kind of person. It's easy to celebrate astronauts, elected officials, military leaders, or anyone whose work is visible. Their accomplishments deserve recognition. We should applaud excellence wherever we find it. But behind many remarkable lives is someone doing an entirely different kind of remarkable work. Someone keeping a family together. Someone carrying the emotional weight no one else sees. Someone remembering birthdays, making difficult phone calls, checking in on friends, welcoming strangers, comforting children, and somehow finding enough energy to encourage everyone around them. Gabby Giffords is one of those people. Most know her story. They know the unimaginable challenges she has endured. They know the courage it took to rebuild a life after violence tried to steal...

  This morning began with the usual start of the day negotiations. Coffee convinced the kettle to do its job. Outlook remained unconvinced I was, in fact, myself. Again. I remain convinced Outlook and I are in a long-term relationship built entirely on mutual distrust. Allegedly.... 😂 I settled into work, opened the programs I'd need for the day, and, as usually happens, my mind wandered off before the rest of me had quite logged in. I genuinely enjoy my job. After some of the twists life has thrown at me, that's something I don't take for granted. Still, every now and then I'll stop halfway through an email and wonder what the kids are doing. Who's making everyone laugh? Who's discovered the greatest idea in recorded history? Who's quietly helping themselves to the snack cupboard while hoping nobody notices? (Bet it's Cade for the last one) Children have an infuriating habit of making complicated things wonderfully simple. I've never heard one intr...