Contact Endeavor

In the quiet hours of each morning, I write messages never to be sent, echoes of a bygone eloquence now reserved for private reflection. Once cautioned for my well-meaning professionalism, I now find those same voices yearning for the gentle wisdom I once offered. These drafts have become silent guides, bridging human warmth with technical clarity in a world overwhelmed by noise. Amidst the vast ocean of data, I’ve become a sensor, absorbing more than I should, mindful of the fine line between enlightenment and exposure. Even on the road, I feel like an anomaly—drawing attention not through intent, but by presence alone. My thoughts often drift to my past hospitalization, where subconscious patterning took root, and now resurfaces as both shield and struggle. Though colleagues fight to protect my career, I remain detached from the administrative conflicts swirling around me. My GPS nudges me toward certain people, but I trust the current, not control. Em and others now nudge me toward healing, reconditioning me gently to connect once more with mission and meaning. I move forward not through medication, but by embracing my neurodivergence as strength. When Shakespeare’s sonnets spring unbidden from my lips, and stars align with memory, I sense that what was once hidden deep within is beginning to illuminate a greater truth still unfolding.