I sit here in the armchair listening to the speaker play a song on repeat. I’ll spare you the reason. My life is a house in progress built by several bricks of experience. I wouldn’t be who I am today had it not been for the pain, suffering, love, joy, and chaos. The whole of the human experience.

I’d like to hide a few of those bricks, knock them out, make them disappear, but then my home would crumble. I am who I am because of them, every single one. Each with its own journey, its own lessons.

Then there are some I’m proud of. They look no different than the others, still red and rough.

The house analogy was not just that.

Whether it is built with happiness, struggle, or love, the bricks keep on coming. I’ll keep building my brick house, the one that I get to leave behind for my children, however many.

But what is the point of the past if you aren’t present in the moment? I’m grateful for all the bricks, but I can’t look at them anymore; I’m too busy placing new ones.