Yog Rahi Gupta
It was another quiet morning at the soup kitchen. I’d been volunteering there for years now, finding solace in small acts of kindness and connection. Each visit reminded me of life’s unpredictable journey-the highs, the lows, and the ways we grow through both. It was here, amidst trays of warm food and a crowd of familiar yet transient faces, that I had come to appreciate the delicate beauty of humanity.
As I ladled soup into a bowl for each person who came in, I reflected on my own life’s path. Years of experiences had taught me to cherish every moment and relationship, to hold on but never too tightly. Life had a way of shifting unexpectedly, like a river changing course, and true resilience meant learning to flow with it rather than fight against
It I’d learned, too, that expecting too much from others often led to disappointment. True generosity, I believed, lay in giving without waiting for anything in return. This practice with Swami grace, had brought me inner strength over time-a self-sufficiency that felt liberating. As I looked around the kitchen, I realized that most of the people here, like myself, were carrying memories and losses that had shaped them in ways only they understood.
Then I noticed a man sitting quietly in the corner, his head slightly bowed. His clothes were worn, his hair graying and unkempt, yet there was a gentle dignity in his demeanor. I hadn’t seen him here before. After finishing my serving shift, I took a warm bowl of soup and a fresh roll and approached him.
“Mind if I join you?” I asked softly, not wanting to intrude.
The man looked up, a hint of surprise in his eyes, then nodded with a faint smile. “Of course.”
As we ate, I introduced myself, and he told me his name was Thomas. We chatted about simple things at first-the chilly Winnipeg weather, the best places for coffee. But as we talked, his story began to unfold. Thomas had once been a teacher. He spoke of a time when he had a stable job, a family, and a comfortable life. But life, as it often does, had changed drastically. A series of misfortunes-a lost job, health challenges, and finally a heartbreaking separation from his family-had led him to the streets. He’d lost nearly everything, yet there was no bitterness in his voice. Instead, he spoke with a quiet acceptance that struck me deeply.
“Do you ever miss it? The life you had before?” I asked gently.
Thomas gazed out the window, his eyes distant but calm. “Sometimes, yes. But I’ve learned that life doesn’t owe me anything, and I don’t need to owe it anything either. I just keep moving forward, one day at a time. Love… well, it’s strange. I’ve lost so much, but the memories, the kindness-they stay with me.”
As he spoke, I was reminded of a belief that had taken me years to adopt: that healing doesn’t mean forgetting, nor does it mean pretending we never cared. It means finding a way to carry our losses with grace, weaving them into the fabric of who we are.
We sat in silence for a moment, each lost in thought. Thomas’s words lingered in my mind. He had endured so much, yet he seemed to have found a way to make peace with his hardships, to find strength in his solitude. His resilience made me realize how easy it was to take our stability for granted. I thought about my own journey, the people I had loved and lost, and how each experience had shaped me, leaving traces that would never fade.
Feeling the weight of his story, I decided to ask him something that had been on my mind. “Thomas, how do you find the strength to keep going, day after day?”
He smiled gently, his face softening. “I’ve come to believe that strength is already within us. Sometimes, we just need the quiet to hear it. I’ve had to let go of so much-people, dreams, expectations-but each loss has made space for something else, something quieter and calmer. And as strange as it sounds, I’ve found freedom in that.”
His words resonated deeply with me. Over the years, I had come to understand that life’s biggest disappointments often stem from expecting too much-from people, from outcomes, from rewards. True peace came from giving and living without expecting anything in return, from nurturing an inner strength that didn’t rely on validation from others.
I told him, “You know, sometimes we carry so much, hoping others will fill in the gaps or appreciate our efforts. But over time, I’ve realized that every person who leaves, every friendship that fades, is part of the journey. They teach us something and leave space for new growth, a deeper sense of self.”
Thomas nodded in agreement. “It’s true. I think people often fear change, but it’s change that makes us who we are. We just have to be willing to embrace it.”
As we wrapped up our conversation, I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the wisdom Thomas had shared. He had shown me that even amidst life’s harshest blows, we could find grace and strength within ourselves. And I realized, too, that each of us has a unique journey, one marked by losses and gains, love and heartbreak, all intertwined in ways that make us who we are.
Before leaving, I reached out my hand, and Thomas took it firmly. “Thank you, Thomas, for sharing this time with me. I’ll be back here next month-I’d love to sit with you again.”
He smiled warmly. “Thank you for seeing me. People serve me food, but not everyone sees me.”
Walking home that evening, I felt a profound sense of clarity. The hardships, the setbacks, and the friendships that had come and gone-they weren’t just chapters in my life. They were lessons, each one a reminder to live with grace, resilience, and kindness, not just to others but to myself.
From that day on, whenever I returned to the soup kitchen, I looked forward to seeing Thomas. In our brief, quiet conversations, I found a mirror reflecting the simplicity and resilience I sought to nurture within myself. He taught me that life’s journey was not about accumulating successes or avoiding losses but about embracing each experience, knowing that every person we meet, every joy and sorrow we face, adds to the strength we carry within.
And as I continued to volunteer, I found myself more present, more open. Each face I saw, each person I met reminded me of Thomas’s lesson-that true maturity lies not in avoiding life’s storms, but in weathering them with courage, kindness, and an open heart.
As I walked away from the soup kitchen that evening, Thomas’s words echoed in my mind. I realized that each person I met, every story I heard, became a part of me. As a writer, I’d always had this instinct to look deeper, to uncover hidden layers and find meaning where others might not. Thomas had shown me yet another side of life, one marked by resilience and quiet strength, and I knew I’d carry his story with me.
In every conversation, I found threads of humanity waiting to be woven into words. It was as though life offered these glimpses not just for understanding but to remind me that even in the smallest encounters, there’s a profound beauty waiting to be expressed. And as I left the kitchen that night, I couldn’t help but feel grateful for these quiet moments that fed not only my soul but my pen-reminding me, as always, that every story is a gift worth sharing.
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