Right now, I’m preparing to drive east for a few weeks. I’ve got errands to run, vet visits to schedule, auto maintenance to handle. There’s client work to wrap, nonprofit business to manage, loose ends to tie up.

And in the midst of all that, I’m making space to reconnect with Charlie.
In person.
Something I never thought I’d do again.

I could be approaching all of this like a burden—like a to-do list I didn’t ask for, filled with emotional landmines and practical stress. And for a long time, that’s exactly how I would’ve approached it. I would’ve rushed, pushed, clenched, and braced.

But not this time.

This time, I’m letting it be what it is—part of the rhythm.
Part of the dance.

I’m taking it one step at a time. Not forcing, not rushing. Trusting that it will all get done, and that I’ll leave when it’s time. I’ll visit people I love along the way. Take the scenic route. Let the road rise to meet me. Let the journey feel like something—something whole, something real, something true.

And that’s different than how I used to live.

It feels less like grasping and more like breathing.
Less like surviving and more like dancing.
Like letting life lead.

If you had asked me a few months ago if I wanted to reconnect with Charlie, if I wanted to be involved in coordinating her long-term care, helping with estate planning, supporting her through this new chapter?

Absolutely not.

In fact, when news of her diagnosis first came to me, I said I was going to stay out of it. For her sake. I told myself she needed someone who could be tender with her, and I didn’t believe I could offer that.

I had grieved the relationship, done the work, accepted the truth—not the version I once hoped for, but the one that was real.

I wasn’t angry. I wasn’t in denial. I just genuinely thought that chapter had closed.

But then a deeper truth began to surface. A feeling I hadn’t yet fully met. A knowing that even though I had moved forward, there was still something knotted in me—something unfinished, something calling to be seen, felt, integrated.

So I got quiet. I listened.

And when I asked myself what I really wanted—not in the moment, but in the big-picture kind of way—the answer was clear:

I desire peace. I desire freedom.

Not just in the easy places, but in the hard ones too. In the complicated conversations, the relationships I thought were over, the parts of me I’d rather not revisit.

Peace and freedom are my true desires.
My North Star.
The compass I’m using to orient my choices, my relationships, my discomfort, my time.

And when life offered me an opportunity to move toward that desire—even when it didn’t look like what I expected—I said yes.

Not because it was easy.
But because it was true.

Because if I’m really committed to creating peace and freedom in every corner of my life—mind, body, spirit, and experience—then that commitment has to include this corner too.

So this isn’t about nostalgia or false hope.
This is about alignment.

It’s such a strange thing, isn’t it? To get everything you thought you wanted—the job, the house, the relationship, the image—and still feel a quiet ache. That whisper: This isn’t it.

Not because anything is technically wrong.
But because we’ve been chasing wants, not desires.

And those are not the same.

Most of our wants are shaped by our wounds.

We want recognition because we’ve felt unseen.
We want control because we’ve lived in chaos.
We want to be chosen because we haven’t learned to choose ourselves.

These wants are understandable. But they’re often driven by fear—not truth.

Desire is different.

Desire comes from stillness.
From clarity.
From the quiet, knowing part of you that isn’t reacting—it’s listening.

Desire doesn’t chase. It doesn’t grasp. It doesn’t beg.
Desire moves in step with your truth, even when that truth is inconvenient or uncomfortable.

Want says: “I need this to feel okay.”
Desire says: “This is who I am.”

And my truth is:
I desire peace. I desire freedom.
That’s the whole list.

So now, when I’m faced with a choice—even one I never would’ve considered before—I ask myself: Will this move me closer to peace and freedom?

If the answer is yes, I lean in.
Even if it scares me.
Even if it stretches me.
Even if it surprises me.

Because every time I take one step toward my true desires—toward peace and freedom—I’m met with more grace, more clarity, and more beauty than I could’ve planned.

And here’s what I’ve learned:
Resistance doesn’t always look like rebellion.
Sometimes it looks like:

“I’m good.”
“I’ve made peace with that.”
“I don’t need anything else.”

But underneath, what’s often there is:

“I don’t believe I can have that.”
“I’m afraid it’ll leave.”
“I don’t trust myself with it.”

So we pretend not to want what we deeply want.
We lower our gaze.
We say no to things we’re secretly aching for.
We close the door.

But eventually—if we’re lucky—we start to hear the whisper again.

The one that says:
There’s more.

What if the life you think you want—the one you’ve imagined as your highest expression—is still only a fraction of what’s actually available to you?

What if the thing your heart is really longing for is just past the edge of what you think you want?

What if your wants were never the point—just a starting place?

Peace and freedom aren’t just what I want most.
They are my compass.

Letting go of the resistance to the work required to experience them in every corner of my life is what’s guiding me now.

And that means letting life lead.
Trusting the rhythm.
Moving with the music, even when I don’t know the next step.

Letting myself be surprised.
Be spun around.
Be delighted.

Not bracing.
Not forcing.
Just dancing.

Let the answers surprise you.

• What parts of my life have I quietly decided are “unchangeable,” even though they’re still costing me my peace?

• Where am I settling for what’s familiar instead of reaching for what’s true?

• What desire keeps showing up—softly, persistently—no matter how many times I try to ignore it?

• If I fully believed I was safe to want what I want, what would I admit to myself today?

• What version of myself do I need to outgrow in order to move toward real freedom?

• If I stopped managing life and started dancing with it, what would my next step be?

I don’t know exactly where this season is taking me.
But I know how I want it to feel:

Unclenched.
Unrestrained.

Like peace.
Like freedom.

So I’ll keep learning the steps.
Letting life lead a little more.
Moving with the rhythm.

Because this isn’t a weight.

It’s part of the dance.

With love,
Sunny

P.S.
If this resonated with you, hit reply and tell me which question stirred something in you—or what peace and freedom look like in your life right now. I read every response and I’d love to hear from you.

And if you know someone who’s craving more alignment, grace, and honesty in their journey, forward this their way. Let’s dance through it all—together.