The Art of Being Real

They told us to chase dreams

as if life were a ladder—

higher, brighter, faster—

but no one said the view is clearest

when you stop climbing.

Reality isn’t the grand reveal,

the soulmate, the summit,

or the crowd that claps when you arrive.

It’s the slow unfurling

of your own heartbeat

in a quiet room

where no one’s watching.

It’s the moment the tea steams,

and you decide not to rush.

It’s your cat’s fur glowing

in a shaft of morning sun,

and you realize heaven

is just good light and soft breath.

The art of life

isn’t the conquest—

it’s the cadence.

To sleep without fear,

to dream without escape,

to wake and still love

the smallness of the day.

Fall in love with yourself

like dawn falls for the earth—

again, and again,

without asking to be seen.

Because reality,

when you finally touch it,

isn’t a spectacle.

It’s a sigh.

A cup of tea.

A purr in your lap.

A heart that no longer

needs applause

to know it’s alive.

And maybe—

the masterpiece we’ve been missing

was never the life we built,

but the way we learned to live inside it.

To walk barefoot through morning light,

to draw a bath like a blessing,

to stir sugar into silence,

and call that

enough.