I had planned to send out this blog post in February, but I couldn’t bring myself to finish it because, like many Vancouverites, I spent the month either sick or recovering. At first, it was mostly physical discomfort—on-and-off headaches, chills, and fatigue—but as the weeks passed, these recurring colds drained not just my body but also my spirit. I began showing signs of emotional burnout and developed a visceral aversion to spending another weekend editing my memoir, a story of suicide loss and grief. I was simply too fragile to relive such a heavy story and, honestly, too depleted to do anything but rest and recharge—a difficult task for someone who always has a creative project (or two) on the go. Overwhelmed on all fronts—physically, mentally, and emotionally—I wondered: Can I take a break? Should I take a break? Do I even have a choice?
When record-breaking freezing temperatures finally loosened their grip on Vancouver, I met my friend Chloe for coffee on the first weekend I felt well enough to leave the house. We ended up chatting about the state of the world—how uncertain and daunting the political and economic landscape is becoming. There was an air of fear and pessimism. But we also felt sorrow and nostalgia as we reminisced about our younger years, realizing there’s no escape from this strange reality of pseudo-connections via social media and AI’s relentless advance, threatening our ability to distinguish the real from the artificial. Dr. Bret Weinstein captures this sentiment more elegantly and succinctly: “We are beautifully designed for a world we no longer live in.” I was feeling the weight of constantly trying to adjust to a world completely different from the one I grew up in.
Like me, my friend Chloe showed signs of burnout. “I used to have this fire inside of me, but I can’t feel it right now,” she confessed. I can’t feel mine either, I answered in my head. My mom would have said, “You are lacking inspiration, honey.” She told me that over the phone in 2013 when I was still living in Buenos Aires, struggling to adjust to my new reality. I had just come out of a nearly seven-year relationship with someone I had loved deeply and suddenly found myself living alone in the big city. The country was entering a period of rampant inflation, often exceeding 30% annually, fueled by economic instability and currency devaluation. I was applying to master’s programs in North America, uncertain whether I could make it happen—afraid that if I waited another year, my money would be worth nothing, making it impossible to leave the country. I worked long hours just to stay afloat, then stayed up past midnight to study for admission exams and prepare applications. There was no time—or money—for breaks or joy.
“You are lacking inspiration, honey.” My mom’s words stuck with me over the years as I learned, through experience, the connection between inspiration and hope.
An Invincible Summer
During my brief time living with my partner Alex in 2021, my main job became keeping him hopeful and making him smile, if only for a moment. Alex lived with mental illness as a consequence of lifelong trauma, caught in constant cycles of acute anxiety, dread, depression, and brief moments of calm before the storm.
Upon learning about Alex’s mental health struggles, a friend shared this poem with me, which I would read to him whenever he was feeling down:
My dear,
In the midst of hate, I found there was, within me, an invincible love.
In the midst of tears, I found there was, within me, an invincible smile.
In the midst of chaos, I found there was, within me, an invincible calm.
I realized, through it all, that… In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible summer.
And that makes me happy. For it says that no matter how hard the world pushes against me, within me, there's something stronger – something better, pushing right back.
Truly yours, – Albert Camus
But the winter in Alex’s mind was unforgiving. Nothing could survive in such a hostile landscape—not even him. Alex took his own life before we even reached six months of living together, and my new job became fostering my own invincible summer.
It's Going To Be Okay
In the year following Alex’s death, my doctor found a growth sitting on top of one of my vocal cords. My surgery was scheduled shortly after my birthday, and I welcomed another trip around the sun burdened by the possibility of cancer. How could I possibly endure the emotional pain of losing Alex without my physical health?
To brace myself for the biopsy results, that weekend, I rode my bike to Jericho Beach—my happy place—carrying a picnic blanket and a book. Jericho Beach held so many good memories: playing in the ocean with friends, long conversations with my favorite people, breathtaking sunsets, quiet moments journaling and reading, and many lovely dates with Alex. As I had many times before, I came to my happy place to draw energy not only from the ocean but also from the memoir I was reading.
I once heard someone say, “We have all been saved by other people’s stories,” and that’s why I seek inspiration and courage in memoirs and wherever I can find a story of resilience.
As I sat on my picnic blanket, gazing at the ocean, I recalled my dad’s words from years ago, when his partner was gravely ill with a brain tumor. “It’s going to be okay,” he said on the phone. He didn’t have to say it outright, but I knew he meant that things would be okay regardless of whether she lived or died. It’s going to be okay, even if we don’t get the outcome we wish for.
Only my dad could say something like that and truly mean it. She passed away shortly after, and my dad lovingly cared for her until the very end.
That day, I realized that hope isn’t about fervently believing in a happy ending. Hope is about trusting that you will be okay even when things don’t go your way.
In the end, as long as you keep feeding your mind and heart with hope and inspiration, you will always find a way to keep going.
Hope and Inspiration
Sometimes, it feels like the only way to exist in this world is to become an endless source of hope and inspiration—an invincible summer. Like Chloe, I needed to reignite the fire within me after such a harsh winter.
Fortunately, my body has always been remarkably good at telling me what it needs—so long as I slow down enough to listen:
- When Alex died, my body asked me to write about our story and my experience—to acknowledge everything I had been through so I could begin to process the events and heal. Looking back, I realize that writing saved my life.
- When I was trying to get back on my feet, my body asked me to start painting again—to reconnect with myself.
- When I felt disconnected from the world—when I couldn’t even feel present in my own body—my body asked me to immerse myself in the ocean. Many times, water was the only thing that helped me breathe.
- And now, my body was asking me to take a break—to create space to breathe, to feel, and to reconnect with inspiration through creativity, joy, and connection.
Hesitant at first, I put my to-do list aside and allowed myself to take a break over the weekend. I ended up enrolling in a few courses on Domestika, an amazing platform where you can learn creative skills in just a few hours. Surprisingly, my favorite part of these courses isn’t the learning itself, but the introductory videos where the artist introduces themselves, their work, and their influences. These are people who love what they do, who have come to realize that creativity is endless, and who take pride and pleasure in bringing beautiful things into this world. Their passion is contagious. I could feel myself beaming with excitement as the first artist shared his portfolio, inspired by his home country of Spain and a lifestyle of surfing, skateboarding, and graffiti.
Before experimenting with any of my new ideas, I decided to rearrange my creative space, placing a corkboard right above my monitor with all the things that keep me inspired: a poster made by my counselor to celebrate the completion of my manuscript, studies of paintings, works by other local artists I follow, a poem Elliott Slinn wrote for me during a live event, a quick sketch of Alex, phrases that bring me back to my WHY and keep me focused, and the messages I get from all of you. Every time you share your story of loss or offer words of encouragement, I write them out on an index card and place them on my board. Now, whenever I need a boost to keep writing, all I have to do is look up.
Another thing that filled my tank those days was attending a Mardi Gras party with my friends, dancing to live funk music, and being surrounded by a joyful, diverse crowd ranging from 20 to 60 years old. I danced, laughed, and felt overwhelming gratitude for being physically healthy again, with the energy to move my body all night in the company of dear friends. Dancing with friends is one of those things that always lifts my spirits. I got home that night with sore legs, a smile on my face, and a full heart.
Shortly after, I attended a screening of the documentary War Tails at The Rio Theater with my friend Chloe. The film follows Kristina, Dan, and other volunteers in Ukraine as they help the pets left behind, frightened and traumatized, when people were forced to flee the war initiated by the Russian occupation. I began crying at the first images of the war, which made me think about Alex and his time on the front lines, first serving as a foreign fighter and later as a medic. I was certain that if he hadn’t taken his own life, he would have volunteered to help.
Kristina and Dan were working 18-20 hours a day to help as many pets as possible through sterilization and vaccinations. There was a ticker at the bottom of the screen showing the number of pets they had helped that day and how much was left of their annual goal: 1,000 pets today – that’s 2% of the annual goal. I felt crushed when I saw the number. “How do they not feel discouraged?” I asked my friend Chloe when the film ended. These people were attempting to complete an impossible mission and yet continued to work relentlessly. “I have faith,” Kristina said during one of the interviews while getting ready to walk into a landmine area. Chloe had read the same numbers but in a different way: “Look at how much they’ve done with such a small team. It shows how much of a difference one person can make. If we all do a little, it adds up.” Kristina, Dan, and the rest of the team were, to me, the definition of an invincible summer.
Something had shifted between the day Chloe and I met to discuss what felt like the end of the world and that evening after watching the film. We were feeling inspired and hopeful again. Because in the end, it’s going to be okay even if things don't turn out as expected.
How do you feed your mind and heart with hope and inspiration? I’d love to hear what practices or stories keep you going.
If you would like to learn more about War Tails, please visit wartails.org
For more inspiring stories of resilience and healing from ordinary people, check out these two podcasts:
Walk With Me - Conversations With Real People
Hard Beautiful Journey - A Podcast For Healing, Personal Growth, and Emotional Resilience
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