Make Peace with Love

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Here it comes. Another boring, sentimental, grossly emotional blog about love.

Love is complicated and it is a power in and of itself. We can’t control love. We can’t make love do what we ask of it. It just is.

Love brings the greatest of joy and the deepest of pain. It punishes just as intensely as it rewards.

There are many different types of love. There is the love of a parent, constant, steady, and unconditional. There is the love of a partner, compromising, negotiating, laughing, crying, fighting and making up. There is the love we carry for those we have lost, messy, angry, wrenching, seeking and feeling lost. Unrequited love that continues to beat us down whilst simultaneously sprinkling hope of what could be over every breath taken. The love of a child, pure, selfish, goofy, tender, sweet and vulnerable. There is the love you have for an elderly parent, fearful of what is to come, proud to be their child, tired by the weight of a lifetime, wise beyond your years, solid as a rock. The love of a friend who showed-up just when you needed them and gave their best to you when you needed someone to believe in you. There is the love of a sibling, not always present, but always there, behind you, you know that they will always get your back when you need it.

I have had the honour of experiencing all of these loves, and more.

I feel privileged to be loved by many different people in as many different ways.

I just wish that it was easier to be, well, a human. My heart aches and burns, it twists and gnaws at me every single day for people I miss. I miss friends and family who live miles away. I miss friendships that have faded into the background of memories. I think about lovers, desired lovers, and I wonder what life could have been like if things had been different.

I get angry when I think about people who have intruded on my life, steering it in their own direction, acting selfishly and not from a place of love.

Don’t get me wrong. I feel all those cliche feelings of ‘not wanting anything to change’ because it ‘would mean I wouldn’t have my children.’ And this is true. Now. But, if things had been different, I wouldn’t know my children and I wouldn’t know what I would be missing; I would have different things. Maybe different children for whom I would have all the typical, cliche, feelings.

My Mom and I used to play all kinds of “choose your own adventure” type of games – If you could go back and redo a year of your life, what year would it be? If you could only save one of your siblings, which would it be? If you could only be with one person for the rest of your life, who would it be? And so on.

But, can’t I have it all? I want it all. I want to live in New Zealand and Canada at the same time. I want to be here where my stepdad lives and in Toronto. I want to be with my partner and my children, but I also want other experiences and relationships. I want to be with my family, but I also want to be alone. I want to go back and relive some experiences in my past (maybe do it better the second time around), but I also wouldn’t want to lose what I have now.

I want everything to change and nothing to change all at once.

Does anyone else live with this conflict pelting you in the face every day? How do you deal with it?

I blame love.

There is too much I love in life, too many people I love. Too many lived experiences I love and more experiences I would love to have. Too many countries I would love to live in. Love that exists alone, hiding in shadows afraid to be seen. Love. I love you. I love you. You break my heart, but I love you. You are a wicked, sinister, evil, devil. Your necessity just makes you more grotesque.

One day I will make peace with love.

Until then, I will continue to fight, to cry, to long, to reminisce, to wonder what could have been, to serve, to play; I will have fun, fight, search, smile, frown, learn, seek, comfort, and hope. Hope that one day I will feel more complete, that I won’t feel like I’m always competing with love.

One day I will make peace with love.

Mom’s Birthday

Today is my Mom’s birthday. The first birthday without her.

Throughout the years there have been many fun birthday memories made…

Like the time I had to borrow money from someone I had just met to send her a birthday card via Purolator, because she had always wanted to receive mail from a delivery service like that.

Then there was her 40th birthday. I made such a big deal about her being “over the hill.” I made her an apron that made an age joke, and we filled a laundry basket full of “old age” gifts. Now, here I am at 45 years old, and I can’t believe that I thought 40 was “over the hill!” I feel like I’m just getting started in many ways.

One year I held an “every birthday celebration you missed” birthday. Mom was always great at celebrating. She made every occasion one full of wonder, joy, magic, sacrifice, and love. But, she didn’t have the same experiences growing up, so I planned a party for her that included balloons, a “pin the tail” game, treat bags, a fun bday cake, and a few pass the parcel type games.

As I’ve been reflecting on my Mom, on this her birth day, I have been reminded of the so many ways she filled this world with love and joy, and I have a new depth of appreciation for the fact that I got to be her daughter.

Not everyone has a woman who gave so much of herself to let the ones she loved know how special they were to her. I will miss this. Yet…I take comfort in the words of those who knew her and know me best, who have said that she still shines through me. Her joy and love is still here, an integral part, in our celebrations because I carry her gift for celebrating. She has instilled in me a gratitude for life and for loved ones; this outlook informs what I do, decisions I make, how I treat others, and so much more, every single day. I am proud of this legacy of love.

I made a little video to celebrate these things.

Happy Birthday, Mom.

Thank you for being such an incredible source of life, joy, and love.

I’ll love you forever.

xxxooo

Art

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Sometimes I make art.

I am not a professional, but it is something I do that helps relax me. My current favourite is making decoupage on canvas of things I find inspiring from my ‘page a day’ calendar.

I went on a bit of a spree after my Mom died. I found it was a way to soothe my soul and get in touch with my deeper self and feelings.

I also make them for those I love the most; I have forgotten to take pictures of some of these, but they are out there.

It’s important to take time out for ourselves. To find ways to connect with our minds and emotions.

I find that taking an hour out of my day to make something with my hands helps to center me.

This is something I have been actively working on; taking time for myself and not apologizing for it. As I do this more regularly, I find I become a better person; I am able to love more fully, I have more energy, I have more patience. It’s a win-win-win situation.

I also sleep better. Though, I still have amazingly vivid and usually wild dreams. I love my dreams because I get to spend time with people I might not see otherwise.

So, grab yourself a coffee or tea and sit and make something. It doesn’t have to be perfect. It doesn’t even have to be great. It just has to be you; a piece of you. Let it reflect whatever it is you are feeling.

You might even surprise yourself with what you are able to create!

My Song for You

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My Song for You

Prelude

I could sing a song to you – A song for your heart only

Would you hear me? Would you listen?

I could sing a song for you; this is my song for you.

Vs. 1

In the mannequin’s eyes I see you looking at me

Pleading with me to come and save you

The door closes but the heart still beats

Reaching for you I back away

But I am here; I have never left you.

Chorus

This is my song for you – This is my song for love

We should have been – Could have been

Will be a great thing one day; Maybe today is that day

Because this is my song. Yes, this is my song

For you

Vs. 2

I heard you singing words today – That made my heart pound wildly

Were you singing those words to me? I think that message is meant for me

You dream of me and I dream of you; we’ll be together again

Chorus

This is my song for you – This is my song of love

We should have been – Could have been

Will be a great thing one day; Maybe today is that day

Because this is my song. Yes, this is my song

For you

Bridge

Storm clouds – Snow clouds

Clouds that hide the sun away

Each one a place for us – We live together in the sky

And no one can ever pull us apart; I am the moon, you are the stars

You surround everything I do – Light and life and love

All in my song for you

Chorus

This is my song for you – This is my song for love

We should have been – Could have been

Will be a great thing one day; maybe today is that day

Because this is my song. Yes, this is my song

For you

Enough. Enough Now.

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When I was in high school, I had a teacher that would talk to us about personal matters. Among them was the idea of love and how he was struggling with whether, or not, to propose to his girlfriend. I remember him talking about how he didn’t believe that there was one person for each of us. This was an idea that rocked my world as a young, naïve, tender youth. I felt offended for his girlfriend. ‘How could he even be thinking about asking her to marry him if he doesn’t even think of her as the one,’ I thought to myself. Now that I have many more years of life experience, I totally understand him.

Today’s youth would more likely be confused by my adolescent belief that there was “the one” than they would his idea that there are many people with whom he could be happy. For today’s youth, the concept of love and relationships is much more open than it was when I was young. Polyamorousim is accepted as an option, along with many other ways of living that were simply not accepted when I was young. I am very glad for this shift as I have never understood why it matters to anyone who someone else loves, or how anyone else wishes to love or live.

Is it possible to love more than one person at a time? I believe it is.

Is it true that there is one special person for each of us? I don’t think so.

What happens when other people influence major decisions, drastically changing the course of our lives?

Back in the day, when my love for the Christian God…or, perhaps it’s better that I say, when my love for my idea of the Christian God determined every move I made, word I spoke, and step I took, the direction of my life was decided by the belief that I needed to do as He willed and wanted.

This made me extremely susceptible to influence from others; mortals, who had no further insight into me, to “God,” or to what should have been than I did. In truth, if I had been more independent and less brainwashed, it would be fair to say that they had less insight into myself and my life than I did. Unfortunately, this is not how I viewed things then. I believed that they had greater insight, and I was silly, sinful even, to not listen to them and follow their leadership.

This led me to some wonderful places, to be true, but it also led me to even more harmful places that I never should have been. I have worked hard through the years to restore what they broke; to find beauty in the ugliness and hope in the despair that they wrought on my life.

One of these huge moments had me packing up my life and moving across the country, and then an entire ocean, to a completely different hemisphere, to follow what I was told was God’s plan for my life. But it was not an easy thing to do. In fact, I was terrified and sickened by the idea the entire time. I remember speaking to my friends, pleading with them to convince me to stay; to tell me it was the wrong thing to do. To save me.

No one did.

They all just…let me go.

I left terrified, heartbroken, scared, and unsure of everything; especially myself.

I remember when my best friend brought me to the airport I sobbed; I sobbed and begged to stay. It was beyond her.

That day when we were scrap booking together, were you spending time with me because you just wanted to be with me, to spend time with me?

When we listened to Ryan Adams sing “Come Pick Me Up,” were you trying to send me a message?

Do you realize that it is me that you wrote that song about? I was the one who told you that the stars don’t shine in the city. You were walking me home after we watched “A Beautiful Mind” together. I was missing my country home, where the stars were endless and felt as though you could reach-out and touch.

And that time in the magical snowfall; I was sure there was an intensity of feeling that wanted me to stay, wishing that we were alone together.

Am I making all of this up? I was so unsure of myself back then, I barely knew how to think for myself. I did know, however, that I disagreed with many of the decisions that were being made at the expense of people’s lives. Decisions that hurt and wounded people. I did speak up when I really believed differently than what was being done, but each time I was dismissed, implanting further the idea that I couldn’t trust myself.

I remember you saying once that this leader “wasn’t always right” and “didn’t know everything.” I shrugged it off and figured you were just having a moment.

I always say that I have no regrets in life but, sometimes I do wish that I could go back and live those days knowing then what I know now – about myself. I wish I could do it again as the self-assured, self-aware person that I am now. I wonder how different life would be.

But we can’t go back. We can’t do it again, no matter how much we might wish to be able to do so. Maybe that is for the best.

Despite this, I want you to know that I loved you, I love you still, and I will probably always love you. Maybe you loved me too. Maybe I’ll never know, and that’s okay.

“Enough. Enough now.”

It’s Okay to be Okay

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As time marches on, I am becoming better at being okay. My Mom is gone. I cannot bring her back, and there is little I can do to control any sadness, grief, feelings of emptiness, or the sting of loss. I have recently realized that I have been hiding from a lot of these feelings and experiences, shoving my head in the ground like an ostrich, pretending that the threats don’t exist.

But recently, I have forced myself to yank my head out of the ground and let everything be what it is. The most incredible thing has happened as a result, I have found that there are times that I am okay. More than that, I have come to learn that it’s okay to be okay.

I really struggled at the start when people would say to me, ‘what would your Mom want for you?’ All I could think, or feel was that she would want us to be together; she would want to be alive. Then, I would get angry.

I hid from things, and watched as my world fell apart; my house became a constant disaster zone, my children were becoming more feral each day, nobody was eating proper meals. It was as if I had totally given up on myself, my family, and my life.

Then, I realized one day while talking to Mom (yes, I talk to her…I’m not crazy. It just helps) that she would be so sad to see what I was allowing my life to become, and this upset me. I had to do something – for her sake.

It’s okay to grieve. It’s okay if this takes a long time or happens quickly. It’s okay to fall apart. It’s okay to hide your head in the sand. It’s okay to get angry at yourself for hiding.

And, most importantly, it’s okay to be okay.

As I have sat here this evening, enjoying my newly cleaned house, feeling refreshed by the amount of water I have consumed today, jazz going in the background, and ambient lighting reflecting the peace of my mind, I am okay.

And that’s okay.

Grieving – Let’s Make a Mess

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When I began with my grief after my mom died I was of the mind that I wanted to really get into it so that I could get out of it. I tried to rush it along, thinking if I gave it all of my focus for a couple of days that it would go away. A few hours into this journey I began to realize that there is no way to hurry grief. You can try to hide from it, but it will find you. You can try to speed it up, but it is going to ignore your efforts and take its time, doing its thing.

Grief is a messy process and it is best if you can allow it room to make its mess without trying to clean it up.

I have been reading multiple books on grief and they have been extremely helpful.

Here are some of my favourites:

https://a.co/d/9c0QLz4 https://a.co/d/hstyQNA https://a.co/d/acJc0wQ

I just started a new one this evening, it’s more of a workbook for grief, and I have already been touched by its approach to grieving. The book is called, “How to Carry What Can’t Be Fixed,” by Megan Devine.

https://a.co/d/9s3zfjI

Grieving and writing have a lot in common; importantly, both grieving and writing need space and the freedom to make a mess. I like how Devine worded it when she stated that “Translating your inner emotional experience into words and pictures is a messy practice” (4)

“It’s hard to speak the truth if you have to make it perfect” (Devine 4)

I feel like it is fitting to share a letter I wrote to my mom on the morning she was cremated, keeping in mind those words of Megan Devine, “It’s hard to speak the truth if you have to make it perfect” (Devine). I am trying to do what feels right inside of me to allow the expression and outworking of my grief, providing it whatever space it needs to make a mess.

So, here goes:

January 29, 2025 (Wed) 5:16am

Mom,

You are being cremated this morning. I now how much you disliked and were afraid of fire; I will be with you. I am so sorry that this is happening. You should be alive. I should be waiting for another couple of hours to text you to let you know how the boys are doing (they are both sick, by the way!).

I realized this morning that I not only lost my mother, but I’ve also lost a best friend. It’s no secret that you weren’t perfect (but who is?), but I really loved you and to me you were still the only mom I would ever want. You loved us all so much; I am so sorry for any ways you feel that we failed you; especially at the end.

I feel the loss of the person who loved my children in a way that nobody else on this planet can/does/did.

I mourn the loss of that profound, special, powerful, relationship. I mourn the loss of the person I would always text little updates on life, anything and everything from the infamous “poop reports” to “SOS! We are falling apart and need our mom/Nana/Mother-in-Law,” knowing that there would always be a reply that would make everything better.

I love how you loved, honoured, respected, protected, and cared for Jono; you taught me how to have more compassion for him and to be more caring, loving, demonstrative and supportive towards him. You honoured me by how much you loved him.

Your husband can be very tough to read at times, but you knew him well. I miss knowing that you two had each other, no matter what, you had each other’s backs.

And now, anger. My anger. I miss you and I am so angry that you are no longer here. I am not mad at you; I am mad at the universe for letting this happen to you. You should be here. You should be here with your bright light of love, joy, peace, and comfort.

I miss you.

Love,

Your Daughter xo

The feelings surrounding my loss are wild and varied, spanning anywhere from missing her sending me pictures of her Minecraft creations, to ugly sobbing about the fact that the “ping” indicating an incoming text is, once again, not from her.

The book, “Coping with Grief,” encourages the reader to ‘tell their story: Who died, who they were to you, what changed with their death, etc. In the discussion about how this process is a messy one, my answer to the following question seems appropriate: “What thoughts or feelings are worrying you?”

Here’s what I wrote:

What if I never get over it? What if I feel crazy, and lonely, and broken, and not myself forever?

Who will support and protect me now?

What if I can’t grieve properly and I’m ruined/messed up for the rest of my life?

My life is going to have a huge chunk of emptiness in it now. What if I can’t get over it or move on from the loss?

What if I don’t want to?

“Into the darkness they go,
the wise and the lovely.”

 – Edna St. Vincent Millay –

It’s a mess. I’m a mess. Mourning is a mess. But, into this mess I must go; this is my home now, at least for awhile. I’m sure that the mess will get less, well, messy with time. But, for now it is where I am and must continue to exist. I will allow the grief to have its space, to change my world, and to change me, just as you have.

Into the darkness I go.

Hindsight is 20/20

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There is a well-known adage that says, “hindsight is 20/20.” It means that it is often easier to see things clearly after the fact, than it is when you are in the situation or trying to make a decision.

I experience this phenomenon regularly.

For example, our basement flooded and we received insurance money to pay for the repairs. We had the choice of hiring a company to complete it or trying to do it ourselves. We chose to do it ourselves…10 months later and we are still working on it. If we had just paid someone to do it, we’d be down there enjoying the space right now. Instead, we have way too much stuff upstairs and can barely move. We desperately need the basement space back. If we had known back then what an ordeal it would have been, we may have chosen different.

I go through this a lot with raising my children. If I had known, way back at the start of things, how some of my decisions would affect my kids in the future, I would have done things a bit differently (or, at least, considered and/or tried to!). For example, if I had allowed life to be more difficult and unpleasant for my eldest, perhaps he wouldn’t struggle so much to cope with the realities of life today.

I can look-back on so many situations in my life where I was totally oblivious to what was going on but can see it clearly now. There are boys who were flirting with me, and I never knew it until recently when I think back on the interactions. There were times when I was taken advantage of, and I can see it clearly now.

Horrible restaurant experiences, getting stuck in the rain, being unprepared, having to rush to not be late…there are countless examples in my life.

One thing of which I do not have much, however, is regret. I don’t regret much about my life, even with its history of abuse, neglect, heartbreak, pain, and sorrow. Regret is an altogether different experience than realizing after (or into) an experience that, perhaps, you should have done things differently.

Regret has to do with feeling badly enough about something that you would change it if you could.

To be honest, there is only one experience in my entire life that I regret and would change if I could; I would save my mom. I regret that I didn’t catch her illness sooner to do more about it, perhaps even stop it from progressing and save her. The illness would have got her eventually, but I might have been able to slow it down and buy us all more time together.

I wish that I had known how sick she was and that it was going to be the end, I would have stayed longer with her, laughed more, hugged her more, and just spent more time enjoying her presence. I regret not doing these things; hindsight is, indeed, 20/20.

While I have always been a “deep” person and try my best to be present in every moment, these experiences have coupled up with my age and, perhaps, a few strands of wisdom to match the growing expanse of silvery highlights, has made me even more acutely aware of the importance of trying to see the hindsight first – before it happens.

‘But that doesn’t make sense,’ I hear you groan at your screen. Before you think that I’m just being stupid and decide to navigate away from this page, stop and think about this. If you could gain even a smidgeon of hindsight before the fact, don’t you think that could change how you approach and experience life?

‘Sure. But wishing it were so and making it so are two very different things.’

Are they?

Perhaps wishing it were so in and of itself makes us more keenly aware of the important aspects we need to consider before making a decision and/or experiencing something.

So, the next time you are in a situation whether you have a decision to make or are spending time with someone else, stop and think about hindsight; are there any thoughts, feelings, ideas, concerns, hopes, or fears that you have about things? Try to picture yourself in different ‘hindsight scenarios’ and maybe, just maybe, we’ll have less disappointment in experiences, and maybe even less regret.

It’s an experiment worth trying to help us live life to its fullest.

Midlife Crisis

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I think about what it is to have a midlife crisis frequently. I wonder if I am having one, if I have already had one, if I am going to have one, or if it is just a made-up thing that no one really experiences.

That last part seems stupid. It is obviously a legitimate thing, or else it wouldn’t be so widely understood and discussed.

What does it mean exactly? What does a midlife crisis look like?

I am guessing that it is unique to every person who experiences it; yet the stereotypes of divorce, motorcycles, and leather jackets must get their popularity from anecdotal evidence.

I have lived a very long and varied existence, having experienced more in my 40+ years than many do in an entire lifetime. Having said that, I have never been one to be afraid of my age, having to “lie” at birthdays because I felt that I needed to portray myself as younger than I was. I love my age. I love ageing, it means that I have survived another year on this tumultuous planet. I did it.

However, I have been struggling lately with this sense that everything is becoming too much. My 44 years have exhausted me and I wonder if I will be able to find the energy I need for another 44.

Moreover, I find myself experiencing the emotional turmoil discussed in this healthline article

https://www.healthline.com/health/midlife-crisis#takeaway

Declining happiness, aimlessness, self-doubt, frustration with changing life roles and responsibilities, a sense boredom with life in general, changes in energy levels that leave me feeling fatigued most of the time, less motivation or enjoyment in interests and activities I used to enjoy, plenty of mood changes (anger, irritability, sadness, anxiety) (Raypole).

I find it a grueling task to try and do self-care having a visceral response when I sit down and try to “be grateful,” or reflect, or meditate, or anything else really.

Heather Irwin contemplating life

I love to write, thankfully, and this is a place I can often come to safely and easily. This is a place where I can find myself, feel found, feel seen, and heard. Even if it is just me listening to myself. Sometimes, that’s all we really need; to listen to ourselves.

I want to strip away the pressures that surround my joy (writing). I want to just write and not be too concerned about making it perfect or what others might think. With everything that I am experiencing in life at the moment, from what I have mentioned above, to the day-to-day struggles that my family and I are battling, I need an easy and safe place within which to retreat.

Maybe if I had more money a motorbike might be my midlife crisis go-to as well. In lieu of the smell of exhaust and leather, I will write. Balls to the wall, caution to the window, honest to goodness, right from the gut, shoot from the hip, kind of writing. Let’s hope I don’t live to regret it!

My Mom Died – I’m Seeking Life Now

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My mom died recently.

I have been waiting to write about it; waiting for the pain to not be so strong and the ability to breathe not be so weak.

It all happened so fast. I still can’t believe that she’s gone.

I keep thinking that she’s going to show-up and say, “surprise! I’m here! It was all just a joke! You’ve been pranked!”

But this is not going to happen. I will never hear her voice in real time ever again. I will never experience the feeling of one of her hugs again or watch her giggle while playing with my children.

 There will be no more “just because” gifts.

I’ve lost the person I could text at any time about anything and always get a response, and almost always get support and encouragement.

Who is going to encourage me now?

She was my biggest cheerleader; I knew that I could handle life, that I could manage, that I was special because of her. What am I now without her?

Life goes on. It’s true. I still do life things; it’s not just everyone else who continues living while she is dead. It’s me too, and this makes me feel guilty. I make dinner, eat toast, buy toilet paper, watch tv…but I do it all while thinking about her, missing her, and hoping that she will come around any corner at any moment and give me a hug and kiss and tell me how much she loves me.

My Mom called me her “Joy.” But I never got to tell her that she was my joy and that the only reason I was ever able to be a joy to her was because of all the joy that she had given to me. I am me because I am her daughter.

So now, my joy is gone, and I don’t know what to do about that.

I miss her.

I want to tear the world apart out of anguish and anger for the fact that this world took her from me.

I don’t want platitudes or to hear “it will get better with time.” These things do not help with the pain that I am feeling right now.

I want you to be angry with me. Be angry that a great mother, wife, friend, Auntie, Nana, and friend has been taken from this world. She died so quickly I didn’t get a chance to say everything I wanted, for us to do the things we talked about doing together.

There will never be another birthday card, or Christmas gift; I will never have to help her change a password again or help her return a mistaken purchase from Amazon.

We were going to watch “Wicked: Part 1” together…

She was hoping that a house on our street would come up for sale so that we could live close – we’ll never live together again.

She wanted me to wait to show Brian my convocation video when she was feeling better and could watch it with us.

We were going to watch “Grumpy Old Men” in late January and do a turkey dinner for Easter, since we did a fish dinner for Christmas.

We won’t be doing any of this now. I will do it all alone. Without my sidekick. Without my friend. Without my best friend. Without my mom.

There will always be a piece of me that is broken, a piece that is missing now.

Always.

I am learning to live with this new version of myself. This version that I have never, ever, known before. There has never been a version of me that has not had my mom – until now.

What is this life?

I thought it was a struggle before to figure out this life; seeking life now has taken on a monumentally deeper and intense meaning than any other thing I’ve experienced.

Seeking life now; when life doesn’t turn out as you had hoped it would.