I have accepted that there is a part of me that never gives up. No matter what kind of person or circumstance I wrap myself up in, I can’t seem to relinquish the part of me that hopes for a breakthrough, dreams of it, invests in the possibility that something real and good and beautiful will come from it all. A friendship, an opportunity to grow or give, maybe a new dream. Something aside from a lesson I hoped not to learn.

I have moments when I wish I were different.

It would be easier if I were cynical and believed that people were rotten and mean instead of just hurting. Maybe I could sleep easier if I didn’t take responsibility for where  I stand at any given moment, if I couldn’t see that in some ways we are all lost and trying to find our way. Maybe I would be more prosperous now if I quit seeing behind the eyes and hearing behind the words to the souls inside, but I would lose something important to me.

Because sometimes, once in a great while, I make a difference to someone.

Sometimes the weight of my heart crushes me. Mostly it gives me joy and a reason to wake up every morning. I would rather have my heart broken every day when I offer it than be numb or bitter and defeated. I have learned along the way that I can love people even if they can’t love me back, because it’s like planting seeds. Sometimes something wonderful blooms, sometimes it doesn’t.

Maybe something will take root and break through the rock after I’m gone.

There is always a point to loving and giving. It is the only point. The giving is the gift.

I will plant the seeds.