There will be a few times in your life when silence won't feel empty
it'll feel like direction.
A whisper, deep and steady, rising from somewhere you can't name.
A knowing.
A pull.
And every part of you will be tense,
because what you're about to do will not make sense.
It won't look safe,
won't sound reasonable,
and it won't come with a guarantee.
You'll feel crazy.
You'll feel wild.
You'll feel like standing on the edge of a cliff and hearing your name in the wind,
soft, but sure.
That's instinct.
Not fear.
Not desperation.
But the raw voice of your soul,
urging you to leap toward something more.
And in those moments, logic will plead with you.
It will draw graphs and make lists.
It will remind you of the odds,
and it will echo all the voices of those who chose safety over soul.
But logic doesn't know how to fall in love.
Logic doesn't know how healing sometimes begins with recklessness,
or how some risks are the only way back to yourself.
You're not crazy for wanting more.
You're not foolish for chasing something that isn't mapped out.
You're just alive.
Deeply, frighteningly and fully alive.
So when your heart pounds for something uncertain,
when your gut tightens not in fear but in urgency,
when your bones feel restless with purpose.
Do it.
Even if no one else understands.
Even if you lose people in the process.
Even if it costs you comfort and control.
Because the truth is,
you already know what you're meant to do.
You're just waiting for permission.
And this is it.
This is your permission.
Some stories aren't written with pens.
They're written in leaps,
in tears,
in broken rules,
in deep breaths before doing something that doesn't make sense
but feels like home.