Embracing The Journey

As I sit here reflecting on my life—all that I have seen, experienced, heard, and felt—a wonderful realization comes to me: I would not change anything.

Recently, I watched a movie called Quantum Leap. It was about a man who traveled through different eras of time, sent to make right something that had gone wrong. His purpose was often to save lives, but he was warned not to change too much. If he altered the outcome, it could shift time in a way that erased people, moments, and entire situations.

That made me think about my own life. If I could leap back in time, what moment would I change? What decision would I undo? Immediately, I thought of my mom. I wished she was still here. I wished I could stop her from leaving. But then I wondered—what would that mean for me? Would I still be in Virginia? Would I have made the same choices? Would I have grown the same way?

The truth is, I depended so much on my mom. I often hid behind her strength, never fully stepping into my own. In many ways, my mom was my god. She was my provider, my counselor, my beginning and my end. Yes, I believed in my friend God, and yes, I felt His presence—but in the hierarchy of my life, it was always: my mom, then God, then everyone else. As long as I had her, I could get through anything.

The day she died, my world fell apart. I lost my way. I lost direction. I lost my motivation to live. Worst of all, I lost hope. And hope is a dangerous thing to lose. It leaves you walking numb through life, like a misplaced dot in a noisy world. People keep moving around you—talking, laughing, living—while inside you want to scream, “Don’t you know I just lost the most important person in my world? Stop! Stop! I need a minute to breathe!”

It was God who resuscitated my heart. He put the Holy Ghost defibrillator on me and shocked me back to life. Beep. Beep. Slowly, my blood started pumping again, like limbs waking up from sleep. I was alive, but I had to ask myself—now what?

That question began my search. Adventures and journeys followed as I shook off the coma of grief. I tried to find myself in different places, moving from one location to another. Moving was in my blood—it was in my family’s blood. As kids, my sisters and I moved constantly. We called it an adventure, but really, we were running—from pain, from memories, from the weight of our past.

What I’ve come to realize is this: you cannot change your past. Too many of us look back and beat ourselves up, saying, “I should be further. I should have more. I shouldn’t have made that choice.” But what if we are exactly where we’re supposed to be, doing exactly what we’re supposed to be doing?

What if life is like school—full of lessons we must pass or retake until we’re ready to graduate? And what if every struggle is part of the curriculum that pushes us toward purpose? Would we fight the lessons so hard if we knew that? And if we erased one single moment of pain, what else would we lose in the process? Would my children still be my children? Would my grandchildren all be here? Would I have as many blessings as God has given me? Would I have still met and been connected to the wonderful people that GOD placed in my path? Would my heart still be as empathic to others? Who would I be without my journey that was carved especially and uniquely for me?

Now, I am in a still place. God laid His hand on me and said, “Peace, be still.” And in that stillness, I see more clearly—not just the world around me, but also the truth within me.

Who would I be without my journey? I don’t know. But I believe that each step, each misstep, each choice, each tear, brought me to the place I stand in now. And like Maya Angelou, today I can truly say: I wouldn’t take nothing for my journey now.

So my advice to you, my loves, is this: embrace your journey. Learn from it. Reflect on it. Don’t define yourself by your missteps. As long as you keep walking, your footing will catch up with you.