Empty plates.

I noticed something in myself.

On Easter, I made a beautiful meal.

I put care into it. Time. Intention.

And it didn’t land the way I imagined.

The kids barely ate. Others drifted in and out.

The moment passed, quietly.

I felt it. A subtle sadness.

Not because of what happened.

But because of what I thought it would be.

That’s where it came from.

Expectation.

I see now, nothing was actually wrong.

Nothing was taken from me.

Only an idea didn’t unfold.

And for a moment, I let that idea shape how I felt.

But I don’t want to live like that.

I don’t want my inner state to depend on how others respond.

On whether they notice.

On whether they meet me where I am.

That’s too fragile.

So I shift.

I let people be where they are.

And I return to myself.

Not forcing happiness.

but choosing a lighter state.

A kind of quiet excitement.

An openness.

Because that, is mine.

And I’m not giving that away.