I needed an escape, and the universe gave me one. A free ride to the coast with a friend—just in time to slip out of the spiral I’d let coil around me. A pity that begins whispering: You're not enough. Not pretty enough. Not rich enough. Not seen.
I’d been caught in that spiral—the kind where even the sunshine feels like it’s for someone else.
But life has a way of showing up exactly when we’re not looking.
He was just a boy—maybe three, maybe four—running with fierce determination from the ocean to a small hole in the sand.
Splash, scoop, run, pour. Again. And repeat.
I was walking through the surf alone, aiming for a distant pier before I had to leave.
Smiling at children, breathing in salt air, and struggling to keep my troubles from creeping in.
Grateful I didn’t have to pay for this trip. Grateful to be here at all.
That’s when he stopped me.
Bucket full of seawater, a grin stretched across his face, he looked up at me and said:
“I’m making a pool of water for my grandma’s feet—so they don’t get hot.”
I followed his eyes up to the dry sand. His grandmother sat there waving, smiling, welcoming, a towel draped over her legs.
There was no way the hole he dug in the dry, hot sand would fill. The water disappeared faster than he could bring it.
But he believed it would fill.
And more than that—he told me.
He included me in his mission without asking who I was or what I had to offer.
He just shared his joy, his purpose, his why.
It was a moment of unfiltered inclusion.
I told him, “You’re such a smart and caring boy.”
And I meant it with my whole heart.
That’s when it hit me: kindness doesn’t always show up to fix.
Sometimes it shows up to invite.
He made space for me in his world. And in doing so, reminded me that I belong—not because of what I bring, but because I am here.
I, too, carry water.
Even if the hole never stays full. The sand beneath stays cool.
Lira Wren
Kindness doesn’t always show up to fix. Sometimes it shows up to invite.
Lira Wren
Kindness doesn’t always show up to fix. Sometimes, it shows up to invite
Lira Wren
.
We’ve all had moments when we felt unseen, not enough. But silver linings aren’t in the distance—they live within us, in quiet rituals and everyday grace.
You don’t need to do more. Just be. Just breathe.
A halo upon skin. A dance in stillness.
Pack a weekend bag , hydrate, and leave space for the unexpected.
Come back when your soul says, “More, please.”
Carry a water bottle for the journey.
