Make My World Bigger
"Make my world bigger." I say this often but fear it may be misinterpreted. What does that even mean? It’s not a demand. It's a plea, a yearning not for the expansive but for the profound. The act of relating and relativity. It’s the man in the corner of the room saying “God damn” when someone’s watch makes an intrusive sound in a sacred space. It’s about what we surrender in those spaces we've crafted to cradle our deepest shames, our most painful truths, our hidden hurts, and the weight of their consequences.
It's the silent mourning for a past love — the grief of knowing she once held your heart securely in her hands and will never hold it the same way again. It’s about pausing mid-step to acknowledge the humanity of an unhoused person on the street, treating them with the dignity they deserve. It’s living the most transformational ten years of your life only to reach the other side of the decade and find it is bookended by a familiar soul, yet a completely transformed being.
It’s the purity of being recognized for nothing more or less than what you are. It’s about sharing the most vulnerable parts of yourself without expecting anything in return, and yet, sometimes, receiving everything just when you need it most.
It’s the path paved with humility but only learned through repeated humiliations and the harsh lessons of the ego. It's about experimenting with life's simple choices, like trying different hot sauces on your tacos to discover which one you truly like the most. It’s the unexpected message from a long-lost friend reminding you that our inner fire, sometimes dimmed, is reignited by heartfelt connections. "In everyone’s life, at some time, our inner fire goes out. It is then burst into flame by an encounter with another human being," the message reads, reminding me that things don’t need to be “new” to be expansive.
It’s the path I navigate as a mother while my child grapples with his own brew of self-imposed shame and obsessive thoughts. It's encapsulated in the innocence of his morning words, the soft declaration before the day's chaos ensues, "What is the word that means forever? Infinity? I’m going to love you infinity because I never want to stop."
It’s the gift of looking into another person's eyes until their physical body seemingly disappears, and touching the essence of their spirit — to feel the profound simplicity and common humanity that connects us all.
This is how our worlds become bigger — not through expansion, but through connection, recognition, and the raw, beautiful depths of shared human experience. This is where it is all rooted. Please, make my world bigger.
