Light.

You have to remember the bigger things. Where were you two years ago? Who was the most important person in your life? Did you wake up early to watch the sunrise like you said you would?

I need you to do something, and it’s not for me, it’s for you. You need to wake up. Take one day, just one day, to gift yourself, and go.

Order that burnt diner coffee and drive, or take the bus, a train, an Uber—it doesn’t matter. Go to that place you last felt at peace, and sit. Get your pants wet with the morning mist by the river, lean into the rock of a subway car, or recline in your parked car in that place you call your own. Wherever you are, take it all in.

Unplug yourself and settle into your solitude. Welcome the dark thoughts that elude you all day and haunt you at night. Live. Breathe. But look at where you are and feel the life moving inside of you. That’s your momentum to survive. That’s what is telling you that you can conquer those dark shadows.

You’re stronger than you think you are. What’s gotten you here will get you where you want to be, but for right now you’re meant to be in that wet grass, or heading north through Manhattan, or staring off, out of your car, into the flashing lights that catch your attention in the place you call your own.

Neither of us knows where you’ll be in two years, and I can’t tell you who will be the most significant person in your life. But I can tell you to watch the moment light first hits the Earth. It’s like watching the planet fill with life—a refreshing breath that reminds you that you’re alive. It reminds you that this planet is as much yours as it is anyone’s, and that one properly aimed stream of light can banish any shadows of the mind.