Author: kwiley

The Unseen Thaw

The morning carries a sharper chill than expected. Winter’s air stings, crisp and unrelenting. The world lies still beneath its white cover. Snow clings to branches, intricate and crystalline. Yesterday’s hurried footprints are gone.

The night’s snowfall has erased them, leaving no trace. The landscape feels cleansed. Yet, there is an unease in that kind of erasure, a sense of loss that lingers.

A moment of almost—but not yet—readiness: waiting, suspended breath, for something just beyond reach. A single drop falls from a branch, catching the faint morning light. Another follows, then another. The thaw begins. Ice creaks softly, loosening its grip.

The thaw arrives whether it is welcomed or not. Readiness does not delay it. It arrives unbidden—just as it always does. This moment, the quiet dissolving of certainty, feels familiar. The buried thought, the echo of a conversation, the grip on an old belief: each loosens its hold. Even winter cannot hold on forever.

The Unseen Thaw — A Poem

By Kerry Ann Wiley

The thaw arrives, unseen, unasked,
melting the once-unyielding past.
A stillness untangles what has hardened within,
a whisper in the quiet light.

Diamonds weep from bending trees,
as beauty trembles, caught between
the weight of loss and the hope unseen.

Each frozen word, each silenced plea,
encased in frost, they linger, still,
vanished footprints the snow does fill.

Yet within the quiet, a stirring sigh
weaves through the hollows where memories lie.
Not all that fades is truly gone;
some things endure, some move on.
Not all that vanishes is lost.
Not all that remains is real.

What melts, what lingers, what slips away,
the thaw unravels what was before,
revealing truths that lie at its core.

The Unraveling

There is something unsettling about the thaw.

It is simple to prepare for the storm, to brace against the cold. There is a certain comfort in anticipating the challenge ahead. No one teaches how to get ready for the thaw—how to let go, how to release what was once solid. The undoing does not break but bends. It does not strike; it erodes, steady and unspoken.

The poem lingers in that delicate space. Yet the thaw is more than just a moment—it is a force, shifting beneath our lives in ways both seen and unseen. When the thaw begins, it takes what once felt certain. Frozen footprints disappear. Sharp edges blur. Delicate patterns melt away.

There is beauty in the breaking. Before something is lost entirely, it lingers, fragile, shimmering, holding on for just a moment. The space between presence and absence, between what was and what is to come, is where The Unseen Thaw finds its meaning.

“Not all that vanishes is lost. Not all that remains is real.”

These words hover, asking:

Is it the holding on that gives something its weight?

Or is it the letting go that sets it free?

Everyone has stood here. Watching as something they thought would last begins to fade: a relationship, a phase of life, an unspoken certainty. The thaw reaches them all, in different ways. Each time… it comes as both an ending and a beginning.

As the ice melts, the weight lifts, and the air feels lighter. What emerges next is uncertain.

What is Left Behind

Certain feelings defy easy expression. The Unseen Thaw captures the fleeting moment when something begins to dissolve. It lingers in the space between holding on and letting go.

The opening lines remind us that change arrives unbidden:

“The thaw arrives, unseen, unasked, / melting the once-unyielding past.”

Control is an illusion. The thaw is inevitable, moving silently through our lives, dismantling what we thought would last.

In the second stanza, “diamonds weep from bending trees” evokes both beauty and sorrow. More than a description of melting ice, it speaks to the grace in endings—the way release can be both painful and exquisite. There is no resistance to the thaw. It simply happens.

Regret weaves through the lines:

“Each frozen word, each silenced plea, / encased in frost, they linger, still.”

The words never said, the opportunities left untouched—they remain, frozen. Until the thaw. It forces them to the surface, briefly… before they slip away. The thaw does not just take; it reveals. The shift is soft.

The fourth stanza introduces a whisper, a forgotten trace, stirring beneath the surface. The thaw is not just an ending; it also uncovers what lies beneath, waiting to be noticed.

Finally, the poem’s closing lines reflect on impermanence:

“What melts, what lingers, what slips away, / the thaw unravels what was before.”

These questions invite reflection. What truly endures? What was never really there at all? The thaw does not merely dissolve; it illuminates, revealing both what has been and what still lies ahead.

The Space Between

Letting go is a gradual shift, a subtle release, a quiet easing. Sometimes it feels like relief; other times, it is wrenching. More often, it is both. The thaw does not erase what came before. It reveals what remains.

The thaw is neither sudden nor merciful. It does not wait. It moves in silence, undoing the edges of certainty. Footprints fade. Ice weakens. What seemed immutable gives way—not all at once, but in pieces, in moments, in the slow surrender of what no longer holds.

There is no clear line between what remains and what changes, only the quiet space between them. Not all that disappears is gone. Not all that softens is broken. The thaw carries both release and renewal, making way for what comes next, even if it is not yet visible. Perhaps the weight is not in what is left behind, but in the waiting. In the moment before something new takes shape.

The Pause Before Dawn

There are moments when life shifts, but the direction remains unclear. A door closes, but another hasn’t opened. A decision is made, but the outcome lingers. That space—where one chapter ends and another waits—is where Between Darkness and Light lingers.

This poem doesn’t just describe the moment before dawn. It captures the feeling of standing on the edge of something new, unsure whether to step forward or hold on to what was.

Between Darkness and Light
The Poem
By: Kerry Ann Wiley

The sky unravels in whispers of gold,
a hush that bends where shadows fold.
Silent, it climbs,
spilling warmth through the night’s last flinch.
A blade of fire parts the deep,
carving the hush where secrets sleep.

Is this birth, or is it decay—
another chance, or time slipping away?

The dark retreats but never dies,
Shadows do not run; they listen,
folding themselves into the seams of light.

And here we stand—
not divided, not whole,
but something unnamed in between.

The dark steps back but does not break,
a quiet pulse beneath the wake.
A hush where echoes hesitate,
neither lost nor returning.

The space between motion,
the weight of a step never taken,
unfinished, but present—
not waiting, only watching.

Trace the seam, shape the gray—
not meant to leave, nor meant to stay.

The Uncertainty of Change

Change rarely unfolds as neatly as it’s imagined. In hindsight, it is often easy to see how one thing ends and another begins. In the moment, however, change is slow, uncertain, and often unclear. It is in the spaces between these shifts, the gaps, where uncertainty lingers.

The poem begins with the sky unraveling in whispers of gold. The light doesn’t rush in; it arrives slowly, almost cautiously. This mirrors the way transitions often feel. They don’t occur all at once. Instead, pieces shift, moments pass, and only later does something new become clear.

Then comes the lingering question:

Is this birth, or is it decay—
another chance, or time slipping away?

At times, change feels like a fresh start; other times, it feels like something slipping out of reach. Often, it is a combination of both. The poem doesn’t offer an answer to this; instead, it simply acknowledges that transformation is rarely simple.

What Stays, What Fades

Change isn’t just about what’s coming; it’s just as much about what remains.

The dark retreats but never dies.

The past doesn’t vanish when something new begins. Shadows don’t run away; they listen, folding into the light and becoming part of it.

This line suggests that the past isn’t erased when change happens. Instead, it remains present, subtly shaping the future. The metaphor of shadows not fleeing, but listening, shows that the past doesn’t vanish—it lingers, adapting with the new.

Shadows folding into the light represent how memories and past experiences don’t disappear; they become part of the present, quietly influencing the future. It acknowledges that the past, though it may shift, continues to exist alongside the new, contributing to the ongoing process of change.

Memories work similarly. The things that came before don’t simply disappear. Some fade over time, while others settle into the present, quietly influencing the future.

The poem captures this tension: moving forward while still carrying pieces of what was.

The Weight of the Unfinished

Near the end of the poem, it lingers on a poignant idea:

The weight of a step never taken.

There is a subtle weight to the things that almost happen: the choices not made, the words left unsaid, the paths unexplored. Even what doesn’t happen still leaves its mark.

That’s why change often feels unsettling. It is not just about what is coming next, but also about what’s being left behind. The uncertainty lies not only in what’s ahead, but in what could have been.

Letting Change Be What It Is

The poem ends with quiet recognition:

Trace the seam, shape the gray—
not meant to leave, nor meant to stay.

Some moments exist simply to be noticed, felt, and understood. Change is not always a clear ending or a definitive beginning. It often lives in the pause before a choice is made, the hesitation before a step forward. It is found in the moment when light and shadow coexist.

Between Darkness and Light embraces the uncertainty that comes with transition. Not every shift needs to be named. Not every change requires understanding. Some moments are meant to be lived, not defined. Eventually, they simply become part of what comes next.

What Silence Holds

Silence is never fully empty. It holds the echoes of unspoken words, lingering in the spaces where thoughts remain unsaid. It carries the weight of replayed choices, each one marking a moment in time. Memories remain, refusing to fade. A moment turns to a question, then doubt. The past does not rest; it stirs, reshapes, insists on being known.

The body begs for rest, but the mind resists. The room is still, yet something remains in the air, unspoken and heavy. What remains is not the silence itself, but all that it holds.

The Weight of What Stays: A Poem
By Kerry Ann Wiley

Thoughts spill like dye in water,
spreading, staining,
refusing to settle.

A voice lingers—uninvited, unshaken.
Was it theirs, or was it true?
Words, once spoken, are never undone.

Storms build slow in the mind.
Air thickens, charged with static.
Tiny moments unravel, distort,
until they become something heavier.

Something undeniable.

What if? What now? What was?
The script unchanged,
the endings unwritten.

A breath.
A pause.
A shift in weight.

For years, the choices seemed simple:
Drown the noise. Fill the silence.
Or fight it—push, shove, run.

Either way, the storm remains,
waiting for cracks to slip through.

This is fear.
This is doubt.
This is grief disguised as memory.

The clock glows red, its tick-tock a constant reminder of time’s unyielding march.

And still, the night offers no resolution.

When Memory Becomes a Storm

Silence is rarely empty. It carries what lingers—the unresolved, the unfinished. Moments that refuse to fade remain within it, waiting. The Weight of What Stays explores how memory shifts, reshapes, and resists stillness.

The image of thoughts “spilling like dye in water” captures how memory seeps, staining the present. As time goes by, conversations once forgotten become more defined. No longer fleeting, they become sharp, laden with the weight of years.

Doubt bends the past, reshaping it into something heavier and uncertain. The air thickens, charged with tension. It mirrors the slow buildup of unresolved thoughts and emotions.

Each one compounds the last, until the storm feels as though it is on the verge of breaking. Like a storm that builds gradually, the tension grows. It becomes heavy and thick, until it can no longer be ignored.

Memories, especially those shaped by doubt or grief, don’t strike all at once but build up gradually, like a storm waiting to break. As they gather, they distort the past, making it more difficult to process. The “charged static” in the air represents the discomfort that builds as these memories linger.

This static clouds the mind and disrupts perception. Some thoughts, like grief, persist, leaving their mark on both the mind and the way moments are remembered.

Letting Silence Settle

The natural instinct is to resist—to drown the silence, to push away what lingers. It might also be to escape or confront. Perhaps there’s a third option: listening. Not all thoughts are enemies; some simply seek acknowledgment. What if the past only needs to be seen, not rewritten?

Memory is never static. It shifts, reshapes, and blends into the present. The Weight of What Stays doesn’t ask for resolution, but for recognition: some memories aren’t simply recalled. They are relived, their significance deepening over time.

The mind craves certainty, yet memory provides none. A fleeting thought gives rise to a question, which gradually takes root as doubt. That doubt reshapes the past, leaving it uncertain and ever-shifting.

Did it happen that way? Was it ever as small as it seemed? Some memories fade, while others grow louder—not because they call for certainty, but because they were never given the space to exist.

Perhaps the past is not meant to be rewritten or fought against. Perhaps the past isn’t something to resolve, but something to live alongside. It lingers neither insisting nor fading. Some memories don’t need to be understood, only acknowledged for what they are—fragments of a time that has passed yet still echoes.

2:37 AM: The Thoughts That Stay

The clock reads 2:37 AM, its red digits cutting through the darkness. Exhaustion settles in, yet the mind stays awake. Eyes flutter shut, searching for stillness, as thoughts refuse to quiet.

A comment from days ago resurfaces—uninvited, unshaken. Its edges are still sharp, its weight still pressing. It plays on repeat, as crisp and stinging as the moment it first left someone else’s lips.

Now, it loops endlessly in the silence. Unfinished conversations, unanswered texts, the email that took too long to send—things once brushed aside now feel heavier. Sleep drifts further away.

Overthinking creeps in like a slow-building storm. The air grows heavy, charged with static, as though rain is imminent. Thoughts surge, louder and more pressing. Small moments twist, stretch, and take on new weight. Peace unravels, bit by bit.

A quote resurfaces: “The storms in my mind ruin the gardens of my soul.” The mind turns on itself, spinning reason into endless What ifs? What now? Does this even matter?

The weight is exhausting. For years, only two options felt possible:

  • Push the thoughts away. Shake them off. Keep moving.
  • Drown them out. Stay busy. Fill every moment with noise, work, distractions.

Still, silence creeps in, slipping through the cracks when things slow. The mind resists, but a few things help.

Give It a Name.

Uncertainty looms largest when it stays undefined. Naming it—This is anxiety. This is doubt. This is regret.—shrinks it down to something manageable.

Stop Wrestling With It.

Pushing thoughts away only makes them louder. Sitting with them, acknowledging them without chasing them, takes away their power. At first, it’s uncomfortable. Over time, the discomfort fades.

Let the Storm Do Its Work.

Not every storm destroys. Some uproot what no longer belongs. Others carve new paths where there once were none. When the noise settles, what remains might be what truly mattered all along.

In the stillness of sleepless hours, the storm itself isn’t the most exhausting part. It’s the resistance. The harder the mind pushes back, the louder the thoughts become. Staring at the ceiling, replaying moments that shouldn’t matter but somehow do. The more the mind tries to quiet itself, the more restless it gets. The more sleep is chased, the further it drifts. At some point, exhaustion wins.

The thoughts don’t disappear, but they lose their urgency. Their edges blur. Their weight shifts. It doesn’t happen all at once. It happens in moments—between tossing and turning, between one deep breath and the next.

The storm passes, not because it was fought, but because the struggle stops. And in that quiet, sleep finally comes.

Unrestrained, Unapologetic, Undiminished

The word “intense“ often surfaces when someone doesn’t quite fit the expected mold. At first, it may seem like a simple observation. Beneath it, however, lingers something unspoken—a subtle suggestion to ease up, to soften, to hold back.

It is a quiet plea to temper passion, to dial down certainty. This word appears when emotions are fully expressed, when conversations move beyond small talk, when conviction is unrestrained.

Intensity, in this sense, is often misinterpreted. It is not about volume or force but depth—a way of moving through life with awareness, curiosity, and emotions that refuse to remain superficial. For some, this depth can be unsettling. But should it be softened?

A Different Way of Experiencing the World

Some people feel everything. A passing comment lingers in their mind for days. A song isn’t just a song—it brings back a feeling, a memory, a person. Even the smallest act of kindness can be overwhelming, not just for what it is but for what it means.

This kind of intensity makes life both meaningful and exhausting. It is why beauty can bring tears, why a conversation can feel charged, and why even an ordinary day can hold such weight. It sparks a need to understand, to look beyond the surface, to uncover the deeper story beneath what people say and do.

Joan Didion (2005) once wrote, “We tell ourselves stories in order to live.” For those who experience life this way, stories are more than entertainment. They help process the world, revealing hidden meanings and forging connections that might otherwise go unnoticed. Through stories, life feels truly real.

Some may call it too much, but maybe it’s just a different way of noticing.

Depth, Not Distance

A woman who experiences life deeply is often labeled as intense, as if her nature requires softening. Depth, however, is not something to restrain—it is a presence that is deliberate, steady, and fully engaged.

She is the friend who asks how you are truly doing and listens with genuine care. She lingers in the pauses, unafraid of silence, allowing meaning to surface in its own time. Where others see only scattered pieces, she notices the patterns that connect them.

This kind of connection demands full engagement—it does not lend itself to half-measures. For some, this intensity feels unfamiliar. They may prefer something lighter, more manageable. But depth is not something to fear.

Clarity That Can Be Uncomfortable

Clarity comes not from harshness, but from focus. Some truths lose their impact when they are softened too much.

In Women Who Run With the Wolves, Estés (1992) describes the wild woman archetype as someone deeply in tune with her instincts. She refuses to be tamed or diminished, embracing her true nature with strength and certainty. This kind of clarity, grounded in authenticity and self-trust, can shift the atmosphere of a room. Superficial conversations may feel empty, while small talk often lacks the depth to keep her engaged.

The desire to understand, connect, and see things as they are isn’t about being difficult—it’s about being fully engaged. For those who find comfort in distance, this intensity may feel unfamiliar. Challenges arise when depth is met with an expectation of simplicity.

Reclaiming Strength Through Intensity

Depth and clarity are often what make women’s experiences so powerful.

Frida Kahlo, for example, used her paintings to express emotions that could not be easily softened. Through surreal, deeply personal imagery, she shared her experiences of pain, love, and resilience in a world that often asked women to appear pleasant above all else (Herrera, 1983).

Sylvia Plath wove the intensity of her inner turmoil into her writing. In The Bell Jar and Lady Lazarus, she invited readers into her struggles with love, loss, and identity, reflecting the raw realities of life (Alexander, 1991).

Marie Curie’s work was driven by a similar intensity of purpose. Her research in radioactivity, along with her discoveries of polonium and radium, contributed to major advances in science and medicine. Her relentless pursuit of knowledge led to two Nobel Prizes, establishing her as one of the most influential women in history.

Glennon Doyle (2020) captures this truth in Untamed: “When a woman finally learns that pleasing the world is impossible, she becomes free to learn how to please herself.” Women like Kahlo, Plath, and Curie found that their greatness didn’t arise despite their intensity, but because of it.

The Value of Feeling Deeply

The intensity often seen in women who embrace life with passion, who move through it with purpose, should not be feared or diminished. It is a force that shapes their lives—and leaves a lasting impact on those around them.

Frida Kahlo, Sylvia Plath, and Marie Curie prove that greatness isn’t born from ease or restraint but from fully engaging with the complexities of experience and emotion. To feel deeply, engage authentically, and move through life with unyielding intensity is not a flaw—it is power. It is a force that exists without apology. Trust it. Let it shape, challenge, and redefine what is possible.

References

  • Alexander, P. (1991). Rough magic: A biography of Sylvia Plath. Viking.
  • Didion, J. (2005). The year of magical thinking. Knopf.
  • Doyle, G. (2020). Untamed. The Dial Press.
  • Estés, C. P. (1992). Women who run with the wolves: Myths and stories of the wild woman archetype. Ballantine Books.
  • Herrera, H. (1983). Frida: A biography of Frida Kahlo. Harper & Row.
  • Quinn, S. (1995). Marie Curie: A life. Simon & Schuster.

Unique as Snowflakes: The Complexity of Depression

At first glance, snowflakes and depression might seem unrelated. Snowflakes are celebrated for their delicate beauty, each one unique and intricate in design. Depression, on the other hand, is often seen as heavy and persistent, a stark contrast to fragility. Yet, both are shaped by invisible forces, deeply personal in nature, and often misunderstood.

A Quiet Uniqueness

No two snowflakes are the same. Each forms as water vapor freezes onto tiny particles, with temperature and humidity shaping its design. Similarly, depression appears differently in each individual, shaped by a unique mix of biology, environment, and personal experiences.

Research on mindfulness and psychological health highlights how these individual factors affect mental health outcomes, making each experience of depression unique and deeply personal (Keng, Smoski, & Robins, 2011).

For some, depression feels like a heavy weight, dulling the senses and draining energy. For others, it may appear as a relentless stream of thoughts that never quiets. Physically, it can present as chronic fatigue or unexplained pain, while emotionally, it may emerge as sadness, numbness, or guilt.

Depression is often viewed as a spectrum, reflecting its unpredictable and varied nature. Symptoms can shift over time, appearing differently from one person to another. Some may experience moments of relief, only to face relapses that feel heavier than before (Melrose, 2015).

This variability makes diagnosis and treatment difficult, as no single description can encompass its full complexity. In the same way, calling a snowflake “ice” overlooks the intricate patterns that make each one unique.

Psychologists emphasize that understanding the multifaceted nature of depression requires looking beyond surface-level symptoms. Individual coping strategies and life circumstances play a significant role in how depression is experienced and managed (Lopez, Pedrotti, & Snyder, 2019).

Shaped by Forces Unseen

Snowflakes are shaped by unseen forces like temperature, humidity, and air currents, leaving a lasting mark on their structure. Depression is also influenced by forces that are often hidden, including genetics, trauma, relationships, and coping mechanisms. The relationship between neurobiological and psychological factors provides insight into how depression takes hold.

Research highlights how past trauma, stress, and genetic predispositions shape depression. These factors affect neurobiological processes, which include the brain and nervous system functions that regulate emotions and behavior. Key elements, such as serotonin and dopamine levels, significantly influence the development and persistence of depression (Rutten et al., 2013). This evidence shows that depression is not simply a reaction to challenging life events or a lack of effort. Instead, it arises from a combination of complex factors, many of which lie beyond an individual’s control.

Depression stems from a mix of internal factors and external challenges. These influences are complex and deeply personal. Recognizing this helps promote a more thoughtful and empathetic understanding of mental health.

The Weight That Shifts

Snowflakes rarely fall in a straight line; they twist and turn, carried by the wind until they finally settle. Depression mirrors this unpredictability. Some days, it feels unbearably heavy, making even the simplest tasks seem impossible. On other days, it is more subdued, a quiet ache beneath the surface.

Unlike snowflakes, which melt and vanish quickly, depression often lingers. Its unpredictable nature can make it difficult to recognize and may leave individuals hesitant to seek help. This is especially true for those whose symptoms don’t match common stereotypes. For instance, “high-functioning depression” refers to individuals who appear outwardly composed while silently struggling internally (Snyder et al., 2019).

Others experience cyclical episodes, where periods of relief are followed by sudden relapses, emphasizing the need for personalized care and tailored treatment.

Listening to What’s Unspoken

Depression, like a snowflake, can be subtle and easily overlooked without gentle attention. Many people stay silent, afraid of being judged or overwhelmed by the pain or discomfort of facing their struggles. This silence can feel heavy, deepening the sense of isolation. Over time, it quietly reinforces the stigma surrounding mental health.

Breaking that silence is crucial. Mindfulness-based approaches focus on establishing safe and non-judgmental environments that encourage individuals to share their experiences openly. These settings promote self-awareness and cultivate compassion for both the individual and others (Jacobs-Stewart, 2010; Keng et al., 2011).

Just as examining a snowflake shows intricate details, understanding an individual’s experience with depression can reveal its complexities. With proper care, time, and support, the burden of depression can be lessened, and its severity may decrease.

Finding Strength in Change

The snowflake metaphor represents individuality, transformation, and complexity. Personal growth involves managing difficulties rather than avoiding them. Research on resilience shows that gradual healing is possible through patience, self-compassion, and support (Lopez, Pedrotti, & Snyder, 2019). Over time, even significant challenges become more manageable.

Depression, like snowflakes, reflects the depth and variation of individual experiences, each contributing to personal growth. Environments that embrace vulnerability and prioritize mental health awareness help build resilience. Studies on well-being indicate these supportive spaces help individuals regain strength and find meaning in difficult times (Gautam et al., 2024).

By understanding depression’s contributing factors and responding with empathy, its impact can be lessened, allowing for recovery and growth. Much like a snowflake’s unique structure, healing is a gradual, transformative process that reveals strength through life’s challenges.

References

  • Gautam, S., Jain, A., Chaudhary, J., Gautam, M., Gaur, M., & Grover, S. (2024). Concept of mental health and mental well-being, its determinants and coping strategies. Indian Journal of Psychiatry, 66(Suppl 2), S231–S244. https://doi.org/10.4103/indianjpsychiatry.indianjpsychiatry_707_23
  • Jacobs-Stewart, T. (2010). Mindfulness and the 12 steps. Hazelden.
  • Keng, S. L., Smoski, M. J., & Robins, C. J. (2011). Effects of mindfulness on psychological health: A review of empirical studies. Clinical Psychology Review, 31(6), 1041–1056. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.cpr.2011.04.006
  • Lopez, S. J., Pedrotti, J. T., & Snyder, C. R. (2019). Positive psychology: The scientific and practical explorations of human strengths. SAGE Publications.
  • Melrose, S. (2015). Seasonal affective disorder: An overview of assessment and treatment approaches. Depression Research and Treatment, 2015, 178564. https://doi.org/10.1155/2015/178564
  • Rutten, B. P. F., Hammels, C., Geschwind, N., Schruers, K., Wichers, M., & Kenis, G. (2013). Resilience in mental health: Linking psychological and neurobiological perspectives. Acta Psychiatrica Scandinavica, 128(1), 3–20. https://doi.org/10.1111/acps.12095

The Roads We Carry

There are moments that linger. Late at night, headlights cut through the darkness, while a song stirs emotions beyond words. In these fleeting moments, strength quietly rises, guiding us forward even when the path ahead is unclear.

The Roads We Carry explores the resilience found in these moments. The poem captures how music, like the road, steadies us through uncertainty, offering no answers—just a rhythm to follow.

The Roads We Carry — The Poem

By Kerry Ann Wiley

A cassette hums in twilight’s haze,
Static crackles through forgotten days.
Neon signs flicker, a restless glow,
Edges blur—no place to go.

The chords rise up, a whispered dare,
A drifter’s hymn fills the open air.
“Here I go again,” the voice insists,
Each note a map, a chance, a twist.

The road unfolds, no end in sight,
Wheels turning under pale moonlight.
The music swells, a quiet roar,
Freedom hums through an open door.

When the weight of the world starts to press,
And silence cradles old distress,
The beat still echoes, steady and kind—
A guide to the heart, a solace for the mind.

Years unravel, but the melody stays,
Threading through life’s winding maze.
Not just a tune, not just a refrain—
The rhythm remains.

In The Roads We Carry, music becomes more than just a soundtrack. It carries emotions that words cannot express. The cassette hums softly, its crackle punctuating the silence, a fragile but steady reminder that even imperfections hold meaning.

The static doesn’t interrupt the rhythm; it deepens it. As the cassette moves through its cycles—rewinding, playing, and slowly fading with use—it retains something timeless despite its flaws.

The poem reflects the idea of moving forward, even when answers feel distant. In the poem, the road is more than just a path. It becomes a metaphor for transition, carrying the weight of the past while remaining open to what lies ahead.

The movement in the poem isn’t driven by urgency but guided by intention. The road reflects life’s steady pace, even when the direction and destination remain unclear. Its rhythm offers reprieve from uncertainty. These moments linger, carved into the spaces where the music fades and the road ends, flowing into the intersections of uncertainty and hope. Sometimes, simply moving forward is enough.

The Roads We Carry honors the strength in persistence. The road serves as a bridge, connecting past, present, and future. Both the road and music create a space for reflection, where life’s questions can coexist with forward motion.

The road symbolizes life’s path, while music represents rhythm and introspection. Together, they form a contemplative space where unanswered questions can be considered without halting progress.

This suggests that uncertainty doesn’t have to hinder movement; instead, reflection and action can happen simultaneously, allowing growth even without complete clarity.

The cassette’s static and crackle symbolize impermanence, adding depth to the moment. Listening becomes an act of remembering, feeling, and continuing. “The rhythm remains” echoes this persistence—a steady strength through life’s changes.

The road is a liminal space, always between what was and what is to come. Headlights carve clarity into the darkness, while the shadowed horizon holds the unknown This tension mirrors life—where clarity and uncertainty intertwine, allowing space for reflection without demanding answers.

The car, small and intimate, becomes a vessel for freedom. The music blends with the wind through open windows, connecting the interior and exterior worlds. Together, the road and music process emotions, allowing questions to linger without the need for resolution.

In The Roads We Carry, the road and music come together to create a space where uncertainty feels less overwhelming. The road, stretching into the unknown, reflects life’s transitions, while music offers a steady rhythm to follow. The crackle of a worn cassette and the hum of wheels remind us that strength lies in the act of moving forward, even when the way ahead isn’t always clear.

These moments—lit by headlights and accompanied by music—offer comfort in their simplicity. The road serves as a quiet presence, where clarity and uncertainty meet, and music fills the silence with emotions too deep for words. The music fades, but its rhythm lingers—a quiet reminder that moving forward, no matter how uncertain, is a strength in itself.

Embracing the Cracks: The Grace of Wabi-Sabi

Some mornings don’t go as expected. The coffee spills, a fragile item shatters, and the day feels just a bit off. It might be something small, like forgetting the house keys, that sets everything off balance. These disruptions may seem insignificant, but wabi-sabi invites a pause to appreciate the imperfect moments (Juniper, 2003). Rather than viewing these moments as signs of a day gone wrong, consider how a brief pause can shift perspective.

Take the chipped mug on the counter. At first, it seems like just another damaged object, a reminder of an old accident. The chip carries a story of rushed mornings, tired hands reaching for it, and moments now gone. The mug, like those who use it, shows the marks of daily life and resilience (Koren, 2008; Delorie, 2018).

This is the core of wabi-sabi. Rooted in Japanese philosophy, wabi-sabi finds beauty in imperfection (Juniper, 2003). It doesn’t hide flaws but invites a deeper appreciation of them. Imperfections are not faults; they are the traces left by life’s experiences, much like resilience, which is the ability to adapt and recover from difficulties, showing strength through challenges (Delorie, 2018).

When Things Don’t Go as Planned

Expectations often shape daily life: a project should unfold as planned, a meal should match the recipe, and mornings should go smoothly. However, life rarely aligns with these ideals. As Koren (2008) suggests, things seldom go as expected.

The chipped paint on the wall, the cluttered desk, and the laundry waiting to be folded all mark the ongoing, unpolished nature of life. Moments pass, priorities shift, and things remain unfinished (Juniper, 2003). Wabi-sabi offers a gentler perspective. It finds beauty in what already is, as it is.

Take kintsugi, for example, a practice related to wabi-sabi, which mends broken pottery by celebrating its flaws rather than hiding them (Koren, 2008). Kintsugi teaches a powerful lesson: imperfections, whether in objects or people, should not be concealed.

When a bowl cracks, the cracks are filled with gold, transforming flaws into a form of beauty. These golden seams do not mask the damage but highlight it, making the object’s history a visible part of its beauty (Koren, 2008). Cracks, whether physical or emotional, are not signs of failure.

They are marks of resilience, proof of the ability to withstand and rise above challenges. Each crack tells a story of moments that tested and reshaped a person (Delorie, 2018). Like the gold in kintsugi, these imperfections reflect growth and transformation. The beauty in mended cracks mirrors the strength that emerges from overcoming hardship (Koren, 2008; Juniper, 2003).

Looking Closer at the Little Things

A spilled coffee cup or a scar may seem like everyday occurrences, but they carry profound meaning (Delorie, 2018). A scar is not just a mark. It is a powerful symbol of survival, a record of the body’s resilience and ability to heal. Similarly, the worn cover of a favorite book shows the marks of use—how it’s been read, carried, and revisited time and again (Juniper, 2003). Even a coffee spill, frustrating as it may be, serves as a reminder that everything is fleeting (Delorie, 2018).

Juniper (2003) describes wabi-sabi as finding beauty in the “transient and incomplete.” In this context, transient refers to the temporary, ever-changing nature of things, moments, or people—recognizing that nothing lasts forever. Incomplete refers to the idea that things do not need to be perfect or finished to be valuable. Instead, wabi-sabi embraces the beauty found in imperfection and the unfinished, accepting them as part of what makes something or someone real (Koren, 2008). This philosophy encourages embracing life’s natural imperfection and change, rather than striving for perfection.

Appreciating the Everyday

Wabi-sabi draws attention to details that often go unnoticed. They remain in the background until something brings them into focus (Juniper, 2003). Imagine a wooden table, scarred by time and the marks of shared meals. Similarly, a sweater with thinning elbows still offers the same comfort it did when it was first worn.

Then there’s the mug with a chipped edge, worn down by countless mornings. These objects are not valued for meeting a standard of beauty. Their value comes from the experiences they have been part of and the connections they represent (Delorie, 2018).

This is the core of wabi-sabi. Delorie (2018) describes it as “releasing control, embracing what is, and finding gratitude in the moment.” Gratitude doesn’t need to come from something extraordinary. It can arise from something as simple as the warmth of sunlight through a smudged window or the quiet comfort of something well-used (Koren, 2008).

The Things That Hold It Together

When things don’t go as expected, frustration can take over. Wabi-sabi, however, shows there is value even in these moments, even when they seem imperfect. The chipped mug still holds coffee, and the crooked plant continues to grow. Life moves forward, despite the flaws (Juniper, 2003).

The worn mug doesn’t lose its purpose because of its imperfections. The chip is part of its story, what makes it familiar and unique. The same is true for people; the cracks and marks don’t diminish their worth. They are reminders of lessons learned, of how time has shaped them. As Koren (2008) reflects, imperfections are not flaws to hide, but parts of a story to embrace.

Life doesn’t need to be flawless to feel complete. It is the imperfections—the cracks, the disruptions—that make things meaningful and memorable.

References

  • Juniper, A. (2003). Wabi Sabi: The Japanese Art of Impermanence. Tuttle Publishing.
  • Koren, L. (2008). Wabi-sabi for artists, designers, poets & philosophers (Illustrated ed.). Stone Bridge Press.
  • Delorie, O. L. (2018). Wabi Sabi: Finding Beauty in Imperfection. Sterling Publishing.

Why Yoga Might Be the Exercise You’ve Been Avoiding (And Why It Works)

A common question from readers of Wiley’s Walk is how to make movement accessible to everyone, regardless of their physical abilities or experience level. For many, exercise can feel more like a burden than a benefit.

The pressure to keep up with intense routines, the discomfort of unfamiliar movements, or simply the lack of motivation often turns exercise into something to avoid. Yet, what if there was a way to move that didn’t require pushing past physical limits or enduring discomfort? Yoga may offer a refreshing alternative to conventional forms of exercise.

Unlike many traditional workouts, yoga is a practice that adapts to the body, helping to calm the mind and foster a sense of balance. Whether you are looking to relieve stress, build strength, or simply feel more at ease in your own body, yoga provides a unique and welcoming approach. It makes movement more accessible and maybe even enjoyable. Let’s explore why yoga might be the perfect solution.

What Is Yoga?

Yoga is about balance—physically, mentally, and emotionally. It is a practice that nurtures both the body and the mind, no matter where you begin. At its core, yoga integrates three key elements:

  1. Movement (Asanas)
    Poses like Downward Dog and Child’s Pose are central to yoga, helping to build strength, flexibility, and a sense of inner calm. These poses are both foundational and accessible, making yoga adaptable to all levels.
    • Downward Dog (Adho Mukha Svanasana): This pose strengthens the arms and legs while stretching the spine and hamstrings. It is both energizing and soothing, grounding the body while lifting the hips upward.
      • Child’s Pose (Balasana): A resting posture, this pose encourages relaxation and allows for a moment to release tension. It’s a chance to pause and breathe.
      Together, these poses highlight how yoga blends effort and rest, promoting physical stability and mental ease (National Center for Complementary and Integrative Health, n.d.).
  2. Breathing (Pranayama)
    Focused breathing techniques, known as pranayama, helps calm the nervous system, enhance energy, and promote a sense of balance. Whether it’s slow, deep breaths to relax or invigorating techniques to energize, pranayama connects the breath to the mind and body.
  3. Mindfulness (Meditation)
    At its core, yoga is all about mindfulness. Mindfulness is the practice of staying present in the moment.

Through meditation, we can calm our minds and create a break from mental distractions. By cultivating heightened awareness and focus, meditation improves mental clarity, which allows us to think clearly and stay present.

It also enhances emotional stability, helping us remain calm and balanced even during stressful situations. Together, these benefits leave us feeling more centered and at peace (Harvard Health Publishing, n.d.-b; National Center for Complementary and Integrative Health, n.d.).

By combining movement, breath, and mindfulness, yoga provides a way to build physical strength, emotional balance, and mental calm. Whether you’re new to yoga or have years of experience, it grows with you, offering benefits for both your body and mind.

Yoga for People Without Disabilities

For individuals without disabilities, yoga offers an excellent way to build strength, relieve stress, and develop a stronger connection with the body. Its low-impact design is gentle on the joints while still delivering a challenging and rewarding experience.

Here are some of the physical benefits yoga can offer:

  • Flexibility and Strength: Poses like forward folds and warrior stretches help improve flexibility and gradually build muscle strength.
  • Stress Reduction: Yoga reduces cortisol levels—the stress hormone—helping to create a sense of calm and relaxation (Goyal et al., 2014).
  • Enhanced Balance: Yoga improves body awareness, boosts coordination, and lowers the risk of injury. Many athletes also practice yoga to enhance performance and support recovery (Harvard Health Publishing, 2019).

Yoga isn’t just about how the body moves—it’s about how movement makes you feel. It’s about building confidence, developing self-awareness, and understanding the body’s needs.

Yoga for People with Disabilities

Yoga’s adaptability makes it a great option for individuals with disabilities. Whether dealing with limited mobility, chronic pain, or other physical challenges, yoga can meet you exactly where you are. Here’s how yoga adapts:

  • Chair Yoga: Designed for those who have difficulty standing or balancing, chair yoga features seated poses that emphasize controlled breathing, gentle stretches, and strengthening the upper body.
  • Supportive Props: Tools like yoga blocks, straps, and bolsters make poses more accessible and comfortable by adding stability and support.
  • Breath and Mindfulness Practices: Even with minimal movement, yoga’s focus on breathing techniques and mindfulness offers significant benefits, promoting relaxation, reducing stress, and enhancing mental well-being.

For individuals with conditions like Cerebral Palsy, Multiple Sclerosis, or Spinal Cord Injuries, yoga can improve range of motion, reduce muscle tension, and help manage chronic pain (Smith et al., 2019). Yoga is about moving in ways that feel right, not about achieving perfection.

The Benefits of Yoga for All

Yoga is more than just stretching or exercise—it’s a holistic practice that strengthens the body, calms the mind, and fosters a deeper sense of ease and connection within oneself. Its benefits extend across both physical and mental well-being, offering a transformative experience for practitioners.

Physical Benefits

Yoga supports the body in numerous ways, improving both strength and mobility:

  • Stronger Core and Improved Balance: Poses like tree pose or seated twists target muscles that stabilize the body, enhancing strength and coordination.
  • Increased Flexibility: With consistent practice, yoga helps release tension in tight muscles and joints, offering relief for conditions such as arthritis.
  • Pain Management: Research shows that yoga can alleviate chronic pain, including back pain and joint discomfort (National Center for Complementary and Integrative Health, 2020).

Mental Benefits

Beyond the physical, yoga provides powerful mental and emotional support:

  • Reduced Stress and Enhanced Calm: Yoga’s breathing techniques and mindfulness practices are effective in lowering anxiety and promoting a grounded state of mind (Goyal et al., 2014).
  • Improved Sleep: By encouraging relaxation, yoga helps individuals fall asleep more easily and enjoy deeper, more restful sleep.
  • Boosted Confidence: Through a focus on self-awareness, yoga nurtures a positive relationship with the body, fostering appreciation for its abilities and enhancing overall confidence.

How Much Exercise Is Enough?

While yoga offers a wide range of benefits for both the body and mind, you may wonder how often it is necessary to practice to experience these effects. The good news is that yoga is highly flexible and accessible, with even short, 10–20 minute sessions yielding noticeable improvements.

Whether practiced a few times a week or daily, yoga’s regular incorporation into your routine can amplify its physical and mental benefits, promoting long-term health and balance.

The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) recommends that adults aim for at least 150 minutes of moderate-intensity activity per week, plus muscle-strengthening exercises on two or more days (CDC, 2022). For individuals with disabilities, these guidelines are the same, but activities should be adapted to personal abilities.

Yoga is an excellent choice for meeting fitness goals, as it can serve as both an aerobic workout and a strength-building exercise, depending on the style and intensity. Even a 30-minute session of gentle yoga can contribute to your weekly activity targets.

Starting small is key. Even a few minutes of yoga a day can build momentum toward a more active lifestyle.

Making Yoga a Part of Your Life

Yoga doesn’t need to be complicated to be effective. Whether practiced at home, in a class, or with an adaptive instructor, getting started is simple.

Here’s how to make yoga work for you:

  • Start Small: Even 5–10 minutes a day can make noticeable improvements. Consistency is key.
  • Choose the Right Class: If you are new to yoga, look for beginner or adaptive classes online or locally.
  • Use Props: Don’t hesitate to use yoga blocks, straps, or chairs to make poses more accessible.
  • Go at Your Own Pace: Yoga is a practice, not a performance. Modify or skip poses as needed.
  • Focus on how yoga makes you feel, not on how it looks or how “good” you are at it.

Final Thoughts: Yoga for Every Body

Yoga isn’t about perfecting poses or comparing yourself to others. It’s about tuning into your body and finding what works best for you. Adding yoga to your routine can help build strength, reduce stress, and make your day feel more manageable.

Yoga meets you where you are, adjusting as your needs and abilities evolve. At its core, yoga is about more than just movement. It is about creating space to breathe, connect with your body, and move in ways that support your overall well-being.

References

Echoes of the Drive

Growing up with MTV, cassette tapes, and neon signs, music was always there, subtly shaping the moments of adolescence. Each beat and lyric seemed to find its place, adding meaning to the disarray of growing up. Those songs quietly shaped who I was becoming.

Some songs felt like more than just music. Tracks like Whitesnake’s “Here I Go Again” or U2’s “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For” spoke directly to the restless energy of youth in the ’80s. When those chords began, the radio’s volume surged, daring the speakers to hold up. Car windows slid down, the wind rushed in, voices rose to meet the chorus, and hands tapped rhythms on the dashboard.

But it wasn’t just the sound—it was what the words did. “Here I go again on my own… down the only road I’ve ever known.” Or Bono’s searching confession: “I have climbed the highest mountains… I have run through the fields…” These weren’t just lyrics; they were invitations—to wander, to step beyond the predictable, to chase something bigger that hadn’t yet taken shape but felt essential to find.

The car became more than a way to get from one place to another. It was a haven, a space where everything else faded away. Whether it was my best friend Rabia’s sticky-dash Toyota Corolla or my brother’s gasoline-scented Nissan Z, the car felt like its own small universe. The music was always loud, filling the air and pushing everything else to the background. In those moments, it wasn’t just about the drive—it was about freedom, wrapped in a beat.

When “Here I Go Again” played, it wasn’t David Coverdale’s song anymore. It was Rabia’s. Her hands gripped the steering wheel, her voice brimming with confidence as she sang, “Like a drifter, I was born to walk alone.” She wasn’t just driving; she was commanding the moment, guiding us through a world that felt both too big and somehow not big enough. The destination never really mattered. The music provided its own direction, replacing uncertainty with rhythm and offering an escape that didn’t need permission.

One Saturday, parked at the edge of an unfamiliar field, the opening chords of “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For” spilled from the speakers. For a moment, it was just the music—Bono’s voice, raw and searching, stretching the moment. “I have climbed the highest mountains… I have run through the fields.” Those lyrics bridged the stillness of where we were to everything that felt just out of reach. They didn’t provide answers, but they gave us space to breathe. Restlessness became curiosity, longing transformed into hope, and the weight of questions felt lighter in the music.

There were heavier days too, when everything felt overwhelming—school, fragile friendships, the looming uncertainty of the future. Rebellion didn’t always wear black eyeliner or punk clothes; sometimes, it was quieter, hiding in the corners of songs that refused to offer easy resolutions. “Though I keep searching for an answer…” didn’t promise clarity, but it reminded me to hold on and keep moving. Progress wasn’t about figuring it all out—it was about staying in the search. The music became a companion, grounding me while still pushing me forward.

Years later, those songs still find their way back to me. Whenever “Here I Go Again” plays, I’m reminded of those restless drives and the open-ended possibility they carried. The music doesn’t just bring back the past. It threads through who I am now, a quiet reminder that life has never been about finding the perfect destination. It’s about the moments that carry us forward. It’s about the spaces in between, where we discover who we are becoming. The music was never just a soundtrack. It was the journey itself.