When I dance in the Yukon cold or a crowded hall, I choose a light that holds the dark without being swallowed

At first, I tried to outrun it with noise. I would fill the car with music, podcasts, calls, and plans. I treated joy like a shield. If I stayed bright enough, maybe nothing dark could touch me. But that kind of positivity is like a thin jacket in a northern winter. It looks fine until the wind changes. Then it fails, and you feel foolish for believing it was protection.

The Gurdeep Magazine

The Gurdeep Magazine

Crying can be a bridge between what we feel and what we are ready to admit

Sometimes support looks like tears. Sometimes it looks like stillness. Sometimes it looks like calling a friend and not pretending the day is easy. When people cannot cry, I do not tell them to force it. I tell them they are not broken. I tell them that the heart has more than one language.

An open heart can still laugh, still create, still love, even when the road is rough

If there is one thing the Yukon teaches, it is that light returns, but it returns on its own time. The healthiest positivity I know is the patience to wait without collapsing, and the courage to act without guarantees.