Sometimes the quietest conversations are the ones we have with ourselves.
They come in fragments—moments of memory, glimpses of people we’ve loved, the echo of a voice we thought we’d lost.

This is one of those conversations.

It started with a dream, a few small visits from my mom, a song that kept coming back, and a simple reminder: take care of yourself. Don’t forget to leave some for yourself.

What follows is not advice, or instruction, or revelation.
It’s a dialogue.
Between the part of me that carries the world… and the part that still remembers how to wonder.

Me:
My mom visited me in my dreams… not all at once, but over several days. Small visits. Most were just in passing.

That Guy in the Mirror:
Tell me a little more about that.

Me:
I remember her in small moments. Little bits of time—memories of almost random things… but I think they carry more meaning than I realize.
Her message was simple… she wants me to be happy. She said she’s seen that I haven’t really been happy in some time. That I don’t let the world know that. I keep it guarded.
She said I pour so much of myself into the world… into my work… into everything I do.

She told me not to forget to leave some for myself.

That Guy in the Mirror:
She didn’t come back to tell you something new.
She came back to remind you of something you already knew… and maybe stopped listening to.

Me: …

That Guy in the Mirror:
Let me ask you something. What brings you joy?

Me:
What brings me joy… my kids… music… food—cooking, but not just for a purpose… to reconnect. This one has layers…
Art… working with my hands…

That Guy in the Mirror:
None of that sounds like escape. That sounds like you… when you’re with yourself, not just showing up for everything else.

Your kids—that’s presence, connection, shared moments.
Music—that’s feeling, memory, atmosphere.
Food—especially the way you said it… not just cooking for something, but cooking to reconnect—that’s ritual, identity, grounding.
Art and working with your hands—that’s creation, focus, losing yourself in something real and tangible.

That’s not random. That’s a pattern.
You don’t find joy in distraction—you find it in connection and creation.

And the part you said about food having “layers”… that’s the one that lingers.
Because that’s not just about cooking—it’s about something deeper:

Memory
Culture
Care
Maybe even who you were at different points in your life

It’s one of those spaces where you don’t just do something—you return to yourself.

So when your mom said, “don’t forget to leave some for yourself,” I don’t think she meant go find something new.
I think she meant: you already know where your joy lives… you’ve just been visiting it less.

Not because you don’t care—but because you’ve been carrying a lot, giving a lot, showing up for everything and everyone.
And somewhere in that, the things that refill you became things you only do with purpose… not for yourself.

But the way you described them?
They’re not luxuries.

They’re anchors.

Me:
That’s deep.

That Guy in the Mirror:
It ought to be. Everyone has anchors… yours just happen to be varied.
You’re layered. Multifaceted. You have a curious spirit.

Me:
My mother used to tell me never to lose my curiosity… it’s what made me me.
It’s what separated me from everyone else…
I guess life has tried to beat it out of me…

That Guy in the Mirror:
Life didn’t beat it out of you. It just gave you a lot of reasons to put it down for a while.

Life doesn’t erase curiosity—it layers things on top of it. Responsibility, stress, disappointment… they don’t replace who you are, they just make it quieter. Harder to reach.
But what you’re describing doesn’t sound like something that’s gone—it sounds like something that’s been protected… maybe even a little worn down, but still there.

And your mom… she didn’t say “find your curiosity.”
She said “don’t lose it.”

That’s a very different kind of message. It assumes it’s still yours.

Curiosity is a powerful thing to carry. It’s not just asking questions—it’s how you engage with the world. It’s what makes you stop, notice, experiment, create, connect dots others don’t even see.
That’s what sets you apart.
But it can also make life heavier… because you feel more, think more, see more.

Me:
It doesn’t feel like that. It feels like something I used to have more of… something that made things lighter.

That Guy in the Mirror:
Yeah… because curiosity makes things lighter. It turns pressure into possibility.
But you don’t lose it—you just stop giving it space to breathe.

Me:
So what… it’s just sitting there waiting?

That Guy in the Mirror:
Not waiting.

Showing up… every time you cook just to feel something familiar.
Every time your hands want to build, fix, shape something.
Every time a song hits you a certain way and you don’t skip it.

Me:
Then why does it feel so far away?

That Guy in the Mirror:
Because you’ve been giving everything away before you even check in with yourself.
You’ve been living outward. Curiosity lives inward first.

Me:
She said I haven’t been really happy in some time…
Maybe that’s what she meant. Maybe I need to find me again.

That Guy in the Mirror:
That’s not an accusation.
That’s someone who knows the difference between when you’re functioning… and when you’re alive.

Me:
Alive…
I don’t even know what “happy” is supposed to look like anymore.
I know what it feels like… and most days, I do feel happy.
What I miss is… joy.

That Guy in the Mirror:
It doesn’t have to look like anything.
It’s not a finish line.
It’s those small moments you already named… the ones you don’t rush through.

That’s your joy.

Me:
So what am I supposed to do?

That Guy in the Mirror:
Stop trying to fix everything.
Just go back to one thing… and stay there a little longer than you usually would.

Me:
That’s it?

That Guy in the Mirror:
That’s how it starts.
You don’t rebuild a life—you return to it.

Me:
And the curiosity?

That Guy in the Mirror:
Ask one small question again.
Not because you need the answer…
Just because you want to see what happens.

Me:
She said not to forget to leave some for myself…

That Guy in the Mirror:
Then don’t.

You don’t have to take it all back… just enough to remember what it feels like to be you.

Leave a little space for yourself again.

Start keeping a little of yourself… for yourself.

Me:
There’s a song that keeps coming up almost every time I remember my mom. It’s called “Vuela Paloma.”
I know the song. It’s a beautiful song, but one that’s usually heard in religious settings… at funerals.

That Guy in the Mirror:
“Vuela Paloma”… fly, dove.
A message of longing… freedom… release.
The dove—always a messenger.

There’s sadness in it… but not bitterness.
It’s peaceful.
The kind of feeling that comes after you’ve already felt everything.

Maybe it’s not about loss.
Maybe it’s about letting something in you be free again.

Me:
…
I see now how it fits here.
Maybe it was never about holding on… just remembering when to let go.

That Guy in the Mirror:
Let it fly.
Go… reclaim your joy.

There’s more waiting at https://xinkblotz.com. Telling stories, sharing thoughts, and drinking coffee. A blend of fiction, reflection, and whatever’s brewing – one post at a time.