It’s been almost a year since my last newsletter, and I am thrilled to be writing again.
Life, as it sometimes does, asked me to pause — to be quiet, to heal.
During this time, I faced both illness and loss: I was diagnosed with breast cancer for a second time, and I said goodbye to my amazing and kind father, with whom I was very close.
It was a year of transformation — one that brought profound challenges and unexpected gifts.
As I return to writing, I do so with a renewed sense of purpose: to continue sharing different perspectives and tools that can help us live with greater presence and connection.
My dad loved this poem so much that at his funeral, each of us spoke about it. I now understand why he held it so close to his heart.
At Peace, by Amado Nervo
Very near my sunset, I bless you, Life,
because you never gave me unfulfilled hope,
nor unfair work, nor undeserved sorrow.
Because I see at the end of my rough way
that I was the architect of my own destiny.
If I extracted sweetness or bitterness from things,
it was because I put the sweetness or the bitterness in them.
When I planted rose bushes, I always harvested roses.
Certainly, winter is going to follow my youth,
but you never told me that May was eternal.
I found long nights of pain,
but you never promised me only good nights —
and in exchange, I had some peaceful ones.
I loved, I was loved, the sun caressed my face.
Life, you owe me nothing. Life, we are at peace.
In the months following my dad’s passing, I often thought about what gave him such peace and gratitude at the end of his life.
I realized it wasn’t that life had been easy — it rarely is — but that he had chosen to see his life through a lens of perseverance, acceptance, and appreciation.
We all face difficulties. A rich, full life inevitably includes both joy and pain.
Perhaps our collective mistake is believing that life should be mostly about happiness and pleasure. Maybe the real beauty of life lies in being present with all of it — the light and the darkness — and in how we choose to respond.
Challenges can become teachers. They give us perspective, humility, and the capacity to rise again with more depth and compassion.
I am not what happens to me.
I am who I choose to be.
So, what would you need to do — or who would you need to be — to one day say:
“Life, you owe me nothing. Life, we are at peace.”
Maybe a place to start is by simply asking each morning:
What would make today a day worth living?
Incredibly, the answer often lies in small moments — small accomplishments, moments of contentment and connection.
I would love to hear your reflections and to know how you have been.
With deep appreciation,
Claudia