I had a fascinating conversation this past Saturday that has stuck with me.
 

“We may be through with the past, but the past ain’t through with us.”
 

This is a quote from the movie Magnolia, which I saw for the first time this weekend. It’s a chaotic, heart-breaking, unflinching meditation upon a singular central thesis. As much as we may genuinely believe our past experiences and traumas are behind us, they will often persist in shaping our present lives.
 

(It’s also, hands down, Tom Cruise’s best performance of his career. He is fucking electric as the beautifully coiffed, disturbingly charismatic, utterly broken Frank T.J. Mackey.)
 

Sure, for some of us, we may have processed, therapized, and done deep inner work to contextualize and integrate what’s happened in our lives. And this is work that should never be minimized. You learn and grow as as person. You find ways to heal, and move beyond experiences that could all too quickly take us down irreversible paths that are self-destructive, harmful, or calcifying.
 

Still, we’re human beings. So, deep inner work (while absolutely essential) does not erase the fact that our brains are wired to keep us safe from perceived threats. Even after we've deprogrammed fight-or-flight responses, or found closure, understanding and forgiveness, we emerge from challenging times changed. We possess new perspectives and instincts (good, bad, ugly) that alter how we engage with the world around us.

 

 

 

 

 

Because we’re smarter now, right?

 

Life has shown us its seedy underbelly. How others can hurt us and, in some cases, how we can hurt others. Sometimes more than once. So, we move forward believing we're making “safer” decisions. “More mature” decisions.

 

After the movie, I talked with the person who introduced it to me. I shared a few painful memories that had bubbled to the surface while watching it. They listened with kindness and related in their own ways.

 

At one point they said, “Yeah, nothing surprises me anymore.”

 

And initially I agreed.

 

But then I realized that wasn’t entirely true. Yes, there are parts of me that are a bit more jaded and fearful, but to say nothing surprises me anymore is patently false.
 

At least once a week (if not more), life cuts cleanly through my defenses to startle me awake with pure joy. These moments of unexpected delight, connection, and clarity pierce through even my most guarded of routines. In each instance, I’m reminded that joyful surprises aren’t just possible in life; they’re inevitable, constant, and ever-flowing. Even if I try to ignore them.
 

More than that, they underscore something I think many of us forget:
 

Fear may keep us breathing.
 

But openness is what keeps us alive.
 

Of course, I’m basically 17 screaming gerbils stacked on top of each other in a trench coat, so I’ll be the first to admit that I don’t always meet these moments devoid of internal resistance.

 

 

 

 

But too easily we can mistake these pangs of unresolved fears and anxieties for strikes of intuition and wisdom. As a pastor once told me when I was being particularly uppity and negative “You can’t protect yourself from pain and sadness without also protecting yourself from happiness.”

 

And it’s annoying how right he was.

 

Love. Connection. Expansion. Enlightenment. All of these opportunities (and others) will repeatedly knock on your door, trying to get in. That’s because joy isn’t a probability in life, it’s a certainty much like gravity.

 

 

That’s why it’s up to us to:

Is this always easy? No.

 

With all of my pretty words about letting joy in, I still struggle to resist the urge to pull away or shut down when I’m faced with true happiness. 

 

 

 

 

I’m not perfect, so sometimes I give in. I withdraw. I sabotage. I self-sabotage. I create ambiguity and confusion because my fears convince me this is a moment I should choose safety. But I don’t give in as much as I used to. And I’m getting better at pulling myself out of these little spirals when they occur by asking myself:

 

 

 

 

 

Yes, our pasts may never be quite done with us. But it doesn’t have the final say in how we live our lives. We do. Pain is a deceptive and persuasive force that can trick us into believing that joy is rare and temporary. That love does not come without cost or deceit. That success is only achievable through significant personal sacrifice.

 

Love and joy are just as real and far more abundant than our fears and internal scars would have us believe. Choosing love and joy doesn’t prevent pain, but neither will find us if we decide to stay behind our well-fortified walls of “life lessons” and more “measured” approaches to avoid loss.

 

So, here’s the uncomfortable truth:

 

You have to decide (right now, and every day after) whether you’re going to keep bowing to your fear or finally call it on its bullshit. How many more doors will you lock, calling it “maturity” or “wisdom,” when all you’re doing is hiding? How many more opportunities for love and happiness will you let slip away, while congratulating yourself quietly for avoiding imaginary catastrophes?

 

This isn't about a one-time act of courage or a dramatic, singular leap. It's about the small, brave choices you'll have to make every single day, even when your voice trembles or your hands shake. Those times when faced with an opportunity to live, and you so desperately want to listen to that little fearful heartbeat in your chest whispering:

 

 

I’m not asking you to pretend your fears aren’t real or entirely unfounded. But I'll tell you, every time I’ve “done it scared” and opened a door I instinctively wanted to weld shut, the life I’ve found on the other side has always been worth the risk, worth the stumbles, worth the vulnerability.