Life's Fragile Journey: Perspective Through Loss
Life Is Short. A Gut-Punch Reminder.
In the last ten days, I lost four family members.
Let me repeat that: four family members. In just over a week.
Some from old age, others from illness—but the sheer accumulation of loss has left my entire family reeling. There’s no handbook for grief like this. There’s no preparing your body or your soul for that kind of impact.
So today, I don’t have a long newsletter for you. I just have a moment.
But I believe one moment, one thought, one conversation can shift everything.
And maybe today, this is your moment.
Last week, I was talking to my mom. She’s been through more than most of us could imagine—she lived in a patriarchal society, worked in a sweatshop most of her life, survived war, spent time in a refugee camp while her husband was in a concentration camp, and raised her children through all of it.
She is the strongest woman I know.
As we were talking, she said something she’s told me a hundred times before—but this time it landed differently.
She said, “Don’t worry about anything.”
And then she paused.
And said again, “Life is short.”
Then once more, “Life is short.”
Again. And again.
And for the first time, I really heard her. It wasn’t just words—it was a gut punch. A seismic shift in my perspective.
Maybe it’s the grief.
Maybe it’s watching my children grow faster than I can comprehend.
Maybe it’s getting older myself.
Or maybe it’s watching so many people go through life without ever really living.
I kept thinking of one of my favorite quotes from Wayne Dyer:
“Don’t die with your music still in you.”
And yet so many people do.
So many of us are caught in this trap of chasing and striving, constantly weighed down by the feeling of not-enoughness.
Not enough money.
Not enough time.
Not enough us.
We’re forgetting to live.
We’re forgetting to pause.
To call someone we love.
To take that vacation before the kids are grown.
To savor the moment now—not “someday.”
Because here’s the truth:
Someday doesn’t always come.
This morning, my sister sent me a video. It said:
“Twenty years from now, you’d give anything to be this exact age, exactly this healthy, and back in this exact moment. So take a second to enjoy it now.”
Whew. That one hit me too.
Because if we’re honest, so many of the things we have now—were once things we prayed for.
And yet… here we are, still wanting more.
That’s human nature. We grow, we evolve, we desire.
But where’s the balance?
Where’s the grounding in the now?
The celebration of this exact chapter of life?
As I left the gym today, I saw an older woman—probably in her 70s—walk out after what looked like a really good swim. She passed by the rushed 30- and 40-somethings glued to their phones and to-do lists.
She stepped outside, paused, took a long, deep breath in… and a slow breath out.
And then she started humming.
Right there, in the middle of the parking lot.
Just… humming.
I smiled. And you know what? I hummed all the way to my car too.
Because yeah, I had things to do.
But I could still hum on the way there.
Or I could worry.
And I chose to hum.
So if you’re reading this right now, maybe today is the day you pick up the phone and call someone you love.
Maybe you spend five more minutes with your kids before bedtime.
Maybe you send a little text to your partner, your best friend, your sibling, or your business partner that says, “Hey. I know we’re all busy. But I see you. I appreciate you. I love you.”
These are the moments that make life meaningful.
Not the numbers. Not the grind. Not the notifications.
Just this.
This moment.
This breath.
#Perspective.
I know the world feels heavy.
There’s uncertainty. There’s grief. There’s frustration.
Sometimes life feels like it’s too much.
But in those moments, if we can take even one breath to pause and reframe…
That’s power.
One of the most important tools in my book Healer in Heals is this idea of recontextualization—the ability to shift how we see something.
Not by denying what’s real, but by changing our perspective.
Because when we change the way we look at things…
The things we look at change.
So may today be the kind of day where you pause.
Where you hum.
Where you let life in.
Sending love to every single one of you.
Let’s not wait for tragedy to wake us up.
We’re already here.
Let’s live like it.