At some point, lost friendships stop feeling like a personal thing. You stop wondering why you feel empty or parched in certain company, and you accept these revelations as a life thing, a God thing. You give Him the permission to evolve your environment so it matches your Highest self, and you open yourself up to whatever that needs to look like.
You’re in the driver’s seat pedaling forward, trading one welcome sign for another, all the while expecting your friends to be in the car riding along with you—and some of them are, the most divine of them—but sometimes they’re just the welcome sign.
The places and people you’ve been.
And you don’t even notice until the landscape you prayed for starts opening up in front of you. Until you turn the corner and a new sun rises, and when you look into the rearview mirror, you can’t find them anymore.
But as you mourn them, you remember that there is so much sky from this angle. And there is so much love in this space.
Love looks like the light spilling through the sunroof and smiles. Sounds like the exchange of music, fun, and laughter. And fills you always—completely—over the brim.
It’s in the manner in which we release it, and the willingness in which we receive it, or else it is nothing at all. Recyclable, yet not replaceable. Natural, and not unmoving. The very energy that charges our spirit and wills our hearts and bodies into being.
When you can’t lean into your senses for reference, you can lean into your heart for peace. There’s no time to turn back, but they can always catch up, and you must leave that work to them.
So let your hair down. Roll down those windows, enjoy the view, and know that everything is happening for you, not to.