For me, wisdom lies less in gaining more knowledge and more in relinquishing the belief that we hold any absolute truths.

On my first night in Peru, before beginning our three-week adventure with the next day’s descent to Machu Picchu, Titi asked me to share my life story.

The simple question, ‘What’s your life story?’ seems straightforward.

So why did it leave me stumbling and at a loss for words? After all, I love stories and even write them myself. So why was it so difficult to share my own? I find it easy to be curious about others; however, it’s much harder to open up and be vulnerable about myself.

I’m hesitant to share my story with Titi. For many years, I believed I didn’t have a story, and when I finally realized I did, I was gripped by the fear that someone might uncover it. I was also uncovering many family secrets.

When Titi asked, ‘What’s your life story?’ my initial instinct was to give surface-level answers like, “I’m an advocate, I’ve been divorced for nearly ten years, I’m a mom to a daughter, I love creative writing and gardening.”

Titi said it would be better for me to tell my story than let someone else do it.

“When you recognize that you’re the best person to tell your story, you can find the courage to share it. No one else knows your story’s details, emotions, or facts as you do, and no one else can express it how you can. You must believe in your story and understand that sharing it yourself is empowering. Break free from the bubble of fear and experience the vitality of telling your own story.”

The question was meant to uncover who I am, not just the highlights of my resume or a list of my hobbies. Honestly, my answer was pretty underwhelming.

I awkwardly mentioned how I loved serving others because it helped me practice my spiritual faith, learn new things, and focus less on my worries. It was not an acceptable response for Titi, as I answered more about what I do than who I truly am.

After an hour of wrestling with the question, I finally relinquished my vulnerability and said:

‘Titi, thank you for showing an interest in me. It’s rare that someone genuinely wants to hear my story. If I were to sum up what’s most important to me, it would be my deep passion for encouraging others. Through advocacy work, writing, genuinely listening to people, or serving those around me, I feel most alive and fulfilled when uplifting others.”

I will admit it was a scary thought.

However, I continued.

I began by telling the parts of my story that involved someone hurting me.

Others hurting us makes us feel victimized, and we can live our lives as victims. Living like a victim keeps us stuck in the past and keeps us from living out the purpose for which we were created. That’s why sharing these parts of our story helps bring freedom from victimhood. I also started by sharing the story of my mother’s death, which was so difficult to re-live. I had no choice about her death, and for a very long time, I felt angry.

Initially, I would talk about her death yet never admit my feelings of anger. My anger made me feel guilty. I thought anger was unacceptable and could not tell anyone I was angry.

I also thought others would feel sorry for me if I talked about her death too much. I didn’t want anyone to feel sorry for me. I wanted to express my feelings about how her death impacted me. It was no longer about her death but rather about how her death changed my entire life. The idea of anyone knowing my story tied my stomach in knots, sending my mind into a whirlwind. I was reluctant to share my deepest struggles and disappointments.

I often wondered, ‘Which parts of my story should I share, and which should I take to my grave?’

These thoughts haunted me for over forty years. My grief and anger over my mother’s death were just one part of my story. The abuse I endured, along with the despair and shame that followed, was another. I desperately longed for a friend I could trust—someone who would listen and accept me. I was so ashamed of my past that I wanted to keep it hidden. I believed that revealing my story would make me appear weak and unspiritual. I didn’t think anyone would understand my empathic and intuitive gifts. My fear of being indeed known outweighed my desire to share my secrets. What I didn’t realize was that these secrets were slowly destroying me. The way I was living affected me emotionally, physically, and spiritually. I convinced myself that I had everything under control and that my past was behind me; however, I couldn’t escape it. Why couldn’t I shake my past?

Why was it haunting me?

This is why I was in Peru with Titi: to find answers to these questions.

Titi was willing to listen. As I spoke and cried, I felt my anger bubbling up. It was a huge relief when I realized Titi accepted me without judgment. He gave me the courage to tell my story.

After hearing my two-hour account, he made an insightful observation.

‘You don’t need to learn anything new,’ he said. ‘You wish to return to the time when you were a child with your mother before she passed away, don’t you?'”

In many ways, I believe that’s true.

At that age, I hadn’t learned to be judgmental or biased, and I embraced my empathetic nature without fearing judgment. I was genuinely curious about everyone, regardless of age, beliefs, color, gender, height, political affiliation, race, religion, weight, who they loved, or where they lived.

I believe everyone is born with an innate sense of care and compassion, capable of loving all sentient beings unconditionally.

However, as children grow, they are taught by parents, preachers, teachers, and now by social media and society to limit their love and trust to family members or, at best, those who share the same beliefs, skin color, and often political affiliation.

As a result, by the time we reach high school, we’ve become so disconnected from each other that we can watch a whole nation starving on television or social media without feeling compassion, simply because they don’t resemble us.

Sometimes it’s not until after college (if ever) that we have a moment of realization: ‘Hold on, they’re people too!'”

I acknowledge that, particularly during my preteen and teenage years, I often felt quite distant from those who couldn’t or wouldn’t accept my intuitive abilities and viewed me differently. Something I’ve learned now, which no one told me back then, is that we’re not bound to remain the same person we were in our younger years!

Since childhood, I couldn’t stand to see a fish struggling on the sand or any animal in distress without feeling their pain, let alone witness human suffering. My father, a veterinarian, embodied compassion for all living creatures. I believe he loved animals more than people.

Sometimes, life isn’t about learning something new but what we need to RELINQUISH.

I see you. Do you see me?

Our journeys go on.