Somewhere right now, a girl sits in a corner of her parents’ home, her thoughts tangled with hope and heartbreak, wondering if the leap she’s taken is worth it.
At the same moment, high on a snow-clad mountain, a man who’s spent his life chasing summit after summit sits still for the first time in years, staring at the stars and asking himself if the climb was ever worth it.
In a sun-kissed coastal village, a child splashes in the waves, learning to swim for the first time. His laughter fills the air as his mother cheers him on, her heart heavy with thoughts of her mother, who cannot find the strength to leave a life that dims her spirit. She wonders if the cycles they’re caught in can ever be broken—if the struggle to hope is worth it.
And miles away, somewhere, a middle-aged boy sits alone in his tiny apartment, far from the home he left behind. The country he dreamed of stretches far and wide, full of promise but aching with solitude. His thoughts wander to his parents back home, on holiday without him, and he wonders if the life he left behind to the life he’s building will ever be worth it.
And somewhere, on a crowded city street, a woman steps out of her office late at night, staring up at the skyline. The ache in her chest rises again—a quiet longing for a life she never chose, but she wonders if leaving would ever be worth it.
In a dimly lit 150-square-foot, across town, a musician sits at his piano, piecing together a melody that feels bigger than him, as if it belongs to the whole world, though he knows no one may ever hear it. Still, he plays, asking himself if creating for the void is worth it.
No matter where you are in this moment, no matter what you are doing, the doubts that grip you and the dreams that whisper to you are not yours alone. Every life you’ve ever imagined for yourself, every hesitation that has held you back, every fragile hope or unspoken fear—they’re scattered across the lives of strangers, playing out in a thousand unseen stories.
And though you may never know how those stories will end, it’s strangely reassuring to know this: life is being lived, boldly or quietly, with shaky steps or steady resolve. Every thread of every story, no matter how fragile or unsure, is part of the same endless unfolding. And somehow, the act of living—of trying, failing, and rising again—makes it all worth it.
Love,
Charvee
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